


You Don't Know Where He's Been

by sifshadowheart



Series: Prologue Crossover Challenge [6]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mates, Mpreg, Multi, Slash, Threesome - M/M/M, potentially triggering content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9695930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart
Summary: Death offers his Master a way to escape from the forces controlling him in the wizarding world.Harry probably should've asked for a better explanation on just what Death was going to do to him in the process.Or where Death planned to send him...Chapters flagged with individual warnings for mature, violent, and/or explicit content as the story progresses.





	1. Prologue

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been! **

**And a dozen other reasons why Harry shouldn’t sleep with Spike and/or Angelus**

**A Harry Potter/Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover**

**_Author’s Note: :_** _This is number six of the many crossovers I managed to make happen from the same prologue challenge.  As you can probably guess from the title, there is going to be a lot of dark humor in this one, as well as a plentiful helping of DarkGrey/BorderlineDarkHarry.  I also have taken extreme liberties with the origins of the standard Buffyverse vampires, which should explain both original vampires like the nasty ones that come out of the Hellmouth, as well as vampires that are_ off _like Spike._

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Buffy the Vampire Slayer are both the properties of their respective owners and no profit was made by the writer of this fanfiction.

**Prologue:**

**A Very Harry Happening**

“Please tell me I’m actually dead this time.”

Harry’s voice came out in a deadpan as he opened his eyes in an all-too-familiar location.

He hadn’t been back to Platform 9 ¾ since leaving for his final (eighth) year of Hogwarts.

There was no need, as he had neither friends at the ancient school nor any children to send off.  Though he supposed Teddy was almost there, but it wasn’t yet September and that nightmare of first-year anxiety was months away.  Andromeda would handle most of it, as she’d done with the rest of the day-to-day of raising his godson/her grandson.  But Harry would still be the one the young Lupin would lean on for those first-day jitters.

Well.

He would have been.

But being a Hit Wizard wasn’t exactly all sunshine and roses, and Harry had already beaten the odds more than once.

Moreover, he’d recognized that sickly-purple spell the newest wave of wizarding-cult-followers had shot at him.  Hell.  He’d used the _Sectumsempra_ more than once in the line of duty.

He’d felt it hit across his upper chest and neck.

He’d felt himself get cold and his vision – finally corrected after reaching his majority and being able to request and pay for the expensive potion – fade out.

Harry had died.

Again.

Though maybe this time it would take, even if it would leave behind a grieving Teddy.

Harry didn’t try and fool himself.

After he’d thrown off everyone’s expectations, taking up his seats in the Wizengamot and going after his Inheritance that everyone had somehow neglected to mention *cough, Dumbledore, cough, Weasleys, cough*, not many people would miss him other than his godson.

He imagined that even Andromeda, stern matriarch that she was, would only miss having his support and more importantly his name to throw around, more than him himself.

No.

Going back to Hogwarts, not what the Ministry wanted or the public expected, but still within the “allowable” realm of behavior.

Accepting all his vaults, his titles, and his responsibilities, well, it wasn’t what anyone wanted for him, per se, but it wasn’t beyond the pale either.

It was when he entered Hit Wizard training instead of Auror Academy that people started to twitch.

Harry was already considered volatile, powerful, and somewhat dangerous.

Joining the ranks of witches and wizards who were the Wizarding World’s version of Special Forces crossed with MI6…that started up a tone of concern, though it was levied in part that as a Hit Wizard he was ostensibly under the aegis of the Ministry and all-was-still-well.

It was also the first real strike against the tidy “plan” that had been set in motion for his life, ever since he was born and likely before he was even conceived.

The Wizarding World liked things neat and tidy in their little labeled boxes.

Potters were Aurors.

Malfoys were Politicians.

Blacks were eccentric (or flat-out crazy) Nobles.

And so on, into infinity.

But Harry bucked centuries of tradition and went into the more dangerous field of being a Hit Wizard, which carried with it a ten-year expiration date: either you died before then (which was ninety percent of them) or you retired and either taught the oncoming young-bloods or transferred into the DMLE either as an administrator of some kind or as an Auror.

Harry’s ten-year mark was coming up soon, and he’d made it despite curses, hexes, vampires (and wasn’t that a fun case…) and now this new muggleborn-driven cult that wanted, irony of ironies, to tear down the Statute of Secrecy and usher in a world where wizard kind were benign rulers.

This shit just never ended.

It simply changed faces.

He could almost hear Tom laughing from the gates of Hell where he was no doubt waiting for Harry to show up.

Harry had no illusions about himself.  Not anymore.  He might’ve made a middling-to-good godfather when he wasn’t dodging curses or blood-sucking-fiends, but he also killed his first man at the age of eleven and thereafter never really…stopped.

Oh, there were lulls, and sometimes it was creatures that he ended up ending instead of people, but it was as if once his heart got a taste of death it never forgot it – or how easy it was to dole it out.

He had a survival instinct that was, even he could admit, second to none, surviving things that would have killed anyone else.

And this time that survival instinct was screaming at him that he’d finally failed to listen to it in time.

Most of all…Harry was just tired.

Not so much of his job, he’d been damn good as a Hit Wizard, nor of his role as godfather though he was glad that he’d got to at least spend the last ten years with Teddy.

But tired, oh yes, he was tired of other things.

Tired of the expectations of him to finally “settle down” with an appropriate witch and start popping out heirs, especially with his retirement from active duty Hit Wizard coming up.

Tired of having to explain, again, that no, he wasn’t interested in Ginny for the five-thousandth-time when he went to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

Tired of Hermione trying to use him name and influence to direct the Wizarding World.

Tired of Ron trying to use their shared adventures to advance his Auror career.

Tired of being seen as everyone’s favorite bankroll, after all, it wasn’t like he had any family to spend his galleons on, Harry.

Just tired of all the bullshit.

And now, unless this was a potions-induced psychotropic trip, he could finally rest.

Sighing, he blinked his eyes in the wake of the glowing-white-haze the Platform was covered in and wearily climbed to his feet, absently noticing that like his previous visit he was wearing the same clothes as he remembered before taking the death-blow but clean, though this time it was his Hit Wizard wear of gunmetal-grey Horntail dragonhide trousers, boots, and gloves matched with a goblin-forged steel-mail undershirt topping a soft cotton undervest and topped in turn by a wool long-sleeved tunic in dove grey, a basilisk-hide sleeveless dueling robe that had a hood and dropped to the top of his knee-high boots thrown over it all.  On the left side of his tunic was his rank as a Hit Wizard, no surprise that after nearly a decade in the field, it was of a Field Commander, the words embroidered in the same venom-green of his basilisk robe, with his call sign: Chaos, under it and the nine gunmetal-grey stars that signified each year of service.

His wand was missing from Horntail-hide holster on his right arm, having been dropped when he, well, died, but he felt the comforting weight of his favorite knife still tucked inside his left boot.

“Sorry, son.”  He heard from behind him the voice was soothing and gentle but with an underlying rasp, Harry turning to face the speaker, one he didn’t think he’d ever met before in his life…unlike last time.  “But far be it for Death to forsake His Master in such a way.”

“Merlin.”  He cursed, rubbing at his tired emerald green eyes.  “For once I wish it wasn’t me.”

Harry eyed the other man – if a man at all was what the other figure was.  He was…utterly normal in just about every way.  Harry knew operatives on the muggle side of things that would kill to have his seeming blandness, that ability to be everyone and no one all at once.  Grey hair, a sober face that was handsome but not overly or memorably so, soft grey eyes, and dressed in a muggle suit in black with a mandarin collar, there was nothing remarkable about him not his looks, his middling height, nothing.

Nothing at all, save his voice that had a resonance that struck at the very heart of Harry.

“But it is you.”  Death said, folding his hands elegantly before him, watching Harry with a sort of paternal pride and care.  “You are the last of the Peverells, the last of my chosen Wizards.  You collected all my Hallows, and yet never sought them.  And you who cast them away, breaking and burning the wand, turning the stone to powder, only keeping the last, the Cloak that was handed down from father-to-son, for your own.”  There was no mistaking it, Death was proud of him.  Proud and entertained, unless Harry’s instincts were off.  “There is no other I would have ever chosen – nor did I, when I gave the Three my Gifts and sent them out into the world.  I always knew it would be you, Harry.  And I’m very glad it was.”

“Omniscience…great.”  Harry said with a sigh, barely holding in an eye roll.  He was tempted to give into sarcasm but had enough self-preservation, even while mostly-dead, to refrain in the presence of a deity…of some kind.  “To recap: you met my ancestors, gave them the Hallows, all so that I would become your Master, which I never wanted to be in the first place.”  Harry held out his arms in a Here-I-Am gesture.  “Now what?”

“That is, for the first time,” Death gave him a gentle look of understanding.  “Entirely up to you, son.  Should you wish it you can return to your life, knowing that you are my Master and therefore will have a problem staying dead.  If you wish, you can summon the Hallows to you before you return.  Or you can choose to go on: either to your well-deserved rest having lived a half-life or…”

Harry knew he was going to regret this but his damned-infernal curiosity would torture him for ages if he didn’t do it.  “Or…?”

“You will never have the life you want, the life you were meant to have before Fate meddled with you, if you go back.”  Death looked unbearably pissed-off at the mention of Fate meddling.  Something to think on later, as well as what it implied about both entities? Deities?  Whatever.  A problem for another time.  “Nor can you remain in these Crossroads without becoming a wraith yourself, even the Master of Death is still human, and this is not a place for a soul such as yours.”

“Then I can go on.”  Harry said softly, voice wistful as he stared off at something only he could see.  He could almost hear the voices of his parents, of Sirius and Remus and even Severus, calling out to him.  “To my rest.”  The quirk of his lips was nothing short of bitter.  “I rather think I’ve earned that much.”

“Yes, I daresay you have.”  Death agreed easily with that much.  “You have single-handedly at times and jointly at others, saved no less than millions of lives, both magical and otherwise by your deeds.  You were a true hero in your life and have earned a hero’s rest.  However, there is another path that you might take.”  Death’s eyes gleamed with unearthly brightness for a moment.  “This is, after all, a Crossroads: there are more choices than merely forwards or back.”

“Such as?”

“I can return you to another time in your same world, with all your same knowledge and powers.”  Death waved his arms, and several trains pulled into the station, the first an inky black, the second a blinding white, the third a dove grey, and the last an emerald green.  “I can send you back to your life the very moment you were struck down, merely with a lesser wound, I can send you onwards to your rest, or,” Death’s smile was too toothsome to be comforting.  “I can send you to a place outside of the influences that have thus far guided your life.  The choice, my son, is up to you.”

“I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”  Harry admitted with a sigh, Death nodding and the white train disappearing.  “I’m tired of playing their hero.”  He thought for a moment and gave a sneer.  “And as tempting as it is to go back to another time in my own world, to change things, make them better,” he snorted.  “I’ve already bled enough for them; why should they have any more of me?”

“Why, indeed?”  Death asked lowly, waving an arm and the black train fading away.

Honestly, the deity hadn’t been sure if this Harry would choose to go back and “fix-it” as many other Harrys have.  After all, as quantum cosmology put it: everything that can happen will happen in opposite and parallel universes.  This is merely the first time this Harry has stood before him and they’ve had a version of this same conversation.

Though granted when you thought of it that way, this was the first time this Death has done so as well.

It was enough to give a deity a headache…if deities got headaches.

“Which only leaves the question:” Harry said to himself, staring at the two trains.  “Do I rest, or do I bite the apple that’s been offered to tempt me?”

“It isn’t poisoned; I can reassure you of that much.”  Death smirked.  “But neither is that choice without struggle or conflict.  Choosing to step outside of our influences will lose you your inability to stay dead for one: where you go I would not be able to extend my grasp.  But at the same time, Fate won’t be able to toy with you any longer: you will also be outside of Her reach.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“I can give you the information about that world you’ll need to survive the first thirty days.”  Death folded his arms in front of his chest, a knowing arch to his brow.  “Anything outside of that, you’ll have to bargain for: Death may be neutral, and you my Master, but there are rules to such things that even we cannot disobey.”

“You said I can summon the remains of the Hallows.”  Harry lit on what Death meant almost immediately.  “What can I ask for in exchange for returning them to you, along with my missing wand?”

“The Elder Wand was a weapon to best all others.”  Death intoned solemnly, a chilling reverb in his voice.  “I can supply you with one that with practice and work will be the same.  The Stone was designed to recall a loved one from Me: together with your phoenix wand I can give you similar power.  And the Cloak when mastered and used wisely could hide anyone from even Me: I can grant you the skill to do the same in your new home.”

“A weapon, a power, and a skill.”  Harry summed up, turning it over and over in his mind.  “What about my other things?  Can I have any of them in my new life?”

“I cannot touch that that isn’t yours alone.”  Death said slowly, thinking of how best to word his answer.  “But there will be things I can send along with you as part of your ‘grace period’ as it were.”

“What isn’t mine alone…hmm…”  Harry pondered that.  “The contents of my trust vault and my personal work vault then.”  He decided fit the bill.  “Only in a bottomless trunk or bag from my vault and made into a form that won’t draw attention.  My clothes, say all my Hit Wizard uniforms save for my dress uniform that I’ll be buried in, and my boots.  My personal potions store.  Everything else I suppose all belongs to Teddy now…or was my own inheritance and not strictly mine.”

“It shall be as you ask, if a new home is the choice you make.”  Death agreed with a regal incline of his head.  “Save for things that cannot or will not function in your new home, that is.  There may be artefacts and the like that won’t work where you’re going.”

“I think we both know what I’ve decided.”  Harry drawled with a half-smile.  “I’m tired enough to want to rest, but still curious enough to take your bait.  Send me on: to a place where those that have influenced or would influence my life cannot touch me.”

“As you wish.”  Death nodded his head and the green train disappeared, leaving only the dove grey in its place to carry Harry onward.  “It shall be done: Master of Death.”  The deity looked far off for a moment and smoke and vapor started to climb from the engine’s smokestack.  “What shall your name be, Master, in your new life?”  He asked several moments later after Harry had carried through with his half of the bargain and summoned the Hallows, setting them down on the bench beside him.

“I’ve always wanted to be just Harry.”  The green-eyed wizard said with a little laugh.  “But unless I’m going back in time as well as far away, I don’t think that’ll cut it.”

“No, son.”  Death chuckled a little as he made several things materialize in his lean hands.  “It won’t.”

He handed the items over to Harry, the wizard arching a brow at the all-too-familiar sword though this time it was housed in a basilisk hide sheath, likely the only thing that could protect the bearer or others from its deadly venomous blade.  Rolling his eyes a bit at the vicious grin on Death’s face, Harry threw the buckled sheath on over his robe, settling it onto his back with the ease of someone who has undergone serious weapons training as a Hit Wizard.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used a sword in the last decade, though he – or anyone for that matter – hadn’t seen this one since Neville killed Nagini with it.

Harry had to admit, as far as trades go, an unbeatable Wand for a poisonous, deadly sword wasn’t a bad deal.

Even if the rubies made it a bit flashy for his taste.

Next went on the plain black canvas bag, likely containing the things he’d asked for that “belonged” to him, Death tapping the small pocket on the front of the bag.

“Inside you’ll find your new identity and information on your… _improved_ powers.”  Death warned.  “Read the information I’ve provided thoroughly before you go wandering around.  There are things that quite _literally_ find you too appetizing for words in your new home.”

“I understand.”  Harry nodded once, sharply.  “Will I understand the information with my current level of knowledge?”

“Once I’ve given you the information you’ll need to survive and your new skill-set: yet.”  Death smirked a little.  “Though I would wager that even without it you would’ve figured it out…in time.”

“Okay then…”  Harry shrugged on the pack over top of the sheath but not so it was blocking the hilt of the sword and preventing a clean draw.  “Anything else?”

“Just this.”  Quick as a viper, Death reached out and pressed the palm of one hand to Harry’s forehead.

The smaller figure screamed and writhed in place as information was literally shoved into his mind, tearing through his mental barriers like tinfoil and making his nose drip blood from the strain.

“Fuck!”  He cried out as Death finally let him loose, hunching over with his hands on his knees.  “What the fuck was that?!”

“That.”  Death answered dryly as he escorted Harry over to the open door of the waiting train.  “Was what you can call an information download.  Not pleasant in the least, but effective.  You’ll survive what’s coming now.”  He waved one hand to the open doors, beckoning Harry forward.  “Or at least, you should.  Meditate while you travel, where you’re going is no little distance away…and you’ll need to be prepared for anything the moment you arrive.”

“Okay.”  Harry blew out a breath.  “Be prepared, survive, any other advice before we part ways, hopefully for a long, long time?”

“Just one:” Death said softly, the paternal mien returning.  “This life has taught you to block yourself off from others, to withhold your trust and guard your heart: and those were and are necessary skills for you to survive.  But.”  He held up a warning hand when Harry went to protest.  “But, there will come a time when you’ll need to trust to survive, and to open your heart if you want to live…and not just exist.”

Harry nodded, once, shortly, jaw clenched at the implied censure.

As if he hadn’t heard similar things before, most recently from Andromeda, over his shunning of witches and even wizards, who were brought to him in an attempt to matchmake.

“Harry Potter Black.”  He decided, ignoring the opportunity to respond to Death’s advice.  “That’ll be my name.  Harry P. Black.”

“Very well.”  Death nodded, the doors beginning to close.  “Your destination is a strange version of Earth, one that has links to other realms of both great terror and great wonder.  The year there will be 1996…so a bit of a step back for you.”

“Ok.”  Harry said stepped back before cocking his head and asking one last question: “Any information on where I’ll be…other than Earth?”

Death grin was borderline malicious as he answered, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the closing doors and the squeal of the train wheels.

“They call it the Hellmouth.”

…

Harry laughed darkly as he settled into a compartment on the moving train.  The irony was, even he had to admit, rather wonderful.  He passed up a chance on his afterlife and gave up his not-dying-thing only to land in a place named for hell itself.

It had a delicious sense of symmetrical macabre to it that he enjoyed, even as he wondered and worried about some of the things Death implied – or out-right stated about his “new world.”

No magic for one – or at least – not as he understood it.

That was worrisome, making him unsure about whether his own magic would work.  Or not.  Or just a little.  Which was all somewhat moot as he didn’t have a wand anyway and he only had a few skills in his wandless repertoire.

Don’t get him wrong, they were dead useful skills to have, which was why he’d taken the time and massive effort to learn them wandless: _Epsikey, Tergeo, Stupefy, Allohomora, Accio_ , and _Wingardium Leviosa_ , none of which are necessarily high-level spells but could be learned wandless and even wordless, as he’d done.

The only other magical skills he had that could be done without a wand were a few blood-based rituals he knew of warding that he had to learn to take control of his family properties as well as Grimmauld Place.

That was if using his magic didn’t fry whatever electronics he was around, as since this wasn’t a magical world he was going to, and the year 1996, electronics were going to be a fact of life as Death confirmed he was staying on Earth.

Even if he didn’t recall a Hellmouth from his geography lessons in primary school or anything he’s learned of the magical world since.

So it might be a different Earth, and surely was, but still Earth all the same.

Sinking into his meditation to process the migraine-inducing information overload he’d gotten, Harry arched a brow at one of the first things he found: his new skill-set.

Part of being a Hit Wizard was undergoing a course with the muggle military on survivalism, as well as tracking and bringing down targets.  What he’d gotten in exchange for the Cloak was a different set of skills entirely, though not one that was completely alien due to the aforementioned training.  It was what his trainer/mentor for the Hit Wizards called “Ghost Training” and something Harry hadn’t gotten into as he was slotted into the Hit Wizards when they were short “Tanks”, powerhouses that were mostly used to cause shock, awe, and leave a wave of destruction in their wake.  With his magical core, and proven ability to deal damage, making him into a Tank-Class Hit Wizard simply made sense over the other two classes which were Proteus-Class a kind of jack-of-all-trades that filled in the blanks between Tanks and Ghosts, and the Ghost-Class which were the lone-wolves of the Hit Wizards.  Ghosts were able to adapt to any surroundings, survive any terrain or environment, gathering intelligence or taking out threats as needed.

Needless to say, Tanks and Ghosts rarely worked together, mainly backed up by Proteus who were the bulk and the back-bone of the Hit Wizards.

Altogether, Harry would wager that there were only ever a handful of fully-trained Tanks or Ghosts in the ranks at any given time, whereas all the rest were Proteus.

Wave after wave of instinct, skills, and habits flooded his mind as the information Death gave him to ensure he’d survive the first month met and married up with the skill-set he’d bargained for, Harry suddenly just knowing what the _power_ he’d been _blessed_ with was.

Harry was a fucking _dhampir_ , and a powerful one, the daywalking product of a male vampire impregnating a female of another species…including a witch or mortal female.

All those times avoiding being turned by Dark Creatures, and his patron turns him into one _regardless._

 “Well.”  He murmured as piece by piece his new skills and information settled into place.  “At least now I know why Death gave me a damn sword.  I might very well have to use it if there’s hostile vampires in the area...not to mention this creature called a _Slayer_.”

That fucking asshole had gone and made him immortal with all of the strengths and none of the weaknesses of a vampire…no matter which kind you were talking about.  Harry had bartered away his undying lineage, utterly uninterested in eternity…only to end up an immortal _anyway._   Sometimes, Death really could be a bastard.

…

Feeling muzzy-headed and still fighting off a migraine, Harry knew when he was close to his destination, sensing the motion of the train slowing down.

Standing and shaking his head, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to step out and into a life filled with unknown challenges – save that it was going to be a challenge, Death wouldn't have given him the information, the tools, skills, and power he had, if it was going to be an easy coast to easy street.

No, Harry chuckled, somehow a soft, easy life wasn’t ever in the cards for him.

But if he was honest with himself, that sounded boring as shit anyway.

Stretching up onto his toes, he mentally thanked restoration/nutrition potions as well as a late-teens growth spurt that he wasn’t a damn shrimp anymore.  Being stuck at well-below average height and weight for a male of European extraction would’ve sucked, especially undergoing his weapons training and physical combat training to be a Tank.  Granted, even with magical help he didn’t hit the 6’ 3” of his father or even the 6’ 1” of his godfather, but a nice 5’ 10” was a lot better than the 5’ 4” he was when he faced off against Voldemort.

Magic had also helped his eating issue – or rather the involuntary eating disorder he’d gotten from years of sustained and systematic neglect and abuse – which in turn helped him pack on pounds in the form of muscle, even if he’d never be as built as a Hit Wizard was supposed to be.

Harry was chiseled and cut…but built or stacked with muscle was beyond his grasp.

It started as being nothing but muscle, skin, and bone from his childhood, but even with a specialized diet, exercise, and potions regimen, Harry would still never be the “ideal” Hit Wizard physically.

And he was fine with that, since as far as he could tell, he wasn’t an ideal anything in any other way either.

Nope.

Snow-cones-in-hell would happen first, before he became the ideal hero or Hit Wizard or even boyfriend, much to Ginny’s fury.

Steadying himself as the train slowed to a stop, the doors cracking open and showing a dense forest to his right with a beach and ocean to his left, Harry took one last look around the train and closed his eyes, using his instincts from his new _heritage_ to easily leap from the train and land in a crouch on the empty beach.

His _dhampir_ abilities were so far working in a near-seamless, instinctive fashion.

Good to know.

With a slow look around, Harry rose to his feet and set off at an easy lope towards some caves he saw in the cliff face with his heightened sight, searching for a place to process and practice the information Death had given him.  And, oh yeah, heal from the damned _Sectumsempra_ that killed him.

It was only a deep slice or two across his upper chest now, but it could seriously slow him down even as a _dhampir_ if he didn’t take care of it.  Perhaps especially as a _dhampir_ since their healing abilites were based on blood-magic, specifically by absorbing the magic/life gained from drinking blood from a living creature, much like the way full-vampires stayed alive.  Whether demonic, cursed, created through blood-magic, or like the ones in his new world a strange and twisted amalgamation of all three, it was the magic in living blood that kept them up and moving and existing instead of withering away to skin and bone or petrifying from lack of sustenance.

Thankfully, Harry’s wounds had scabbed over enough that he wasn’t leaving a massive blood trail as he made his way into the cave complex, not wanting to tempt one of the locals into trying to track down what they might think an “easy” meal only to get in _way_ over their heads.  Following a narrow trail that he managed to slip through with some creative usage of his new abilities and limited wandless repertoire, he eventually came out into a wide chamber that was completely dry save for the pool at one end that was fed by an underground source.  Still in awe of his new night-vision and the utter lack of needing a _Lumos_ to see, he followed his newfound skills and instincts, searching for any sign of water marks or the growth of mold, fungi, or rot that would suggest that the cavern flooded during the monsoon season.  Not discovering any, he gave a relieved sigh, knowing that at least he would be safe from human dangers in his hideaway, or other near-human dangers of similar size, and rolling his head on his shoulders shrugged out of the pack and sword, setting them down on a cluster of raised rock formations near the wall opposite the pool.

It wasn’t a large enough water source to bathe in, not that he would want to foul his drinking water anyway, and he’d need to test it for safety, but if it was safe or at least treatable, Harry thought he’d found a base to call home while he honed his new skills and adapted to a life lived mostly without magic and as a _dhampir_ , depending on how thorough Death had been in setting up his new identity.

“Maybe now’s the time to try and train up some other wandless spells.”  He told himself as he dug out his potions supply and started sorting his other supplies.  “Or brush up on my blood-magic since I’m a blood-magic-based semi-creature…thing, now.”

He knew there wouldn’t be food – and Merlin, but he was hungry both for food _and_ blood if he was reading himself right – but there might be a med kit or other things that he didn’t realize were covered under the “his personal property” clause of his deal.

A nutrition potion – thanks to his paranoia over keeping a full potions stock for emergencies after living on the run for a year – took the edge off his hunger even if it didn’t sate it, allowing him to focus on his job of sorting his stuff out – and then repacking it all over again.

If it wasn’t something useful within the next forty-eight hours – like the gold, silver, and bronze from his vaults – he stuffed it away in several of the bottomless pouches he’d had in his vaults and put them in the very bottom of his pack.

Semi-useful things – books, excess clothing, etc. – went into another bag on top of the useless items, while the actually of-use supplies went into a variety of the outer pockets of the pack, Harry taking the time to remove the packet with his new identity and the “information” on his new abilities – a  leather-bound black book he recognized from Grimmauld Place, while he was at it and repurpose that pocket.

One med kit found, potions taken, and bandages applied, Harry spread out his Hit-Wizard issued all-weather all-terrain sleeping bag, already knowing that he’d need to get used to always sleeping clothed and armed again depending on how long it took him to find a secure base, something he hadn’t done since survival training and then the Horcrux hunt before that.

On top of his potions supply, and the med kit that he thought came from under his bathroom sink, Harry had found several more knives, most of which went into various places on him before the overflow went into his pack, matches, that day’s Daily Prophet (at least it would make starting a fire easier), and other small personal items like his hygiene products, Hit Wizard gear, and other odds and ends.

It wasn’t a supply meant to sustain him forever, that was for sure, and he’d have to hunt first thing in the morning for either a butcher or a willing donor and gather some of the herbs and plants from the forest if he can’t find an apothecary, for eating or other things, but all in all…could be worse.

Yeah.

Definitely could be worse.

Harry arched a brow as he flipped rapidly through the papers that made up his new life: ID’s, background, even a bank account – the balance of which explained why his supply of bronze and silver had been lower than he’d expected; and assimilated it much faster than a human eye would have been able to follow.  If he was understanding what had been done to him right from the ancient tome that had been under glass as long as he – or Siri, or the Black Portraits – could remember, Death had made him more in line with a _dhampir_ from a blood-magic-vampire/witch pairing than from the strange-hybrid-vampire/human pairing that would be more likely found in his new home…though would still be extremely rare.  Harry’s genes were still his genes…just _altered_ a bit.  Really, it was no wonder the Blacks had put so many protections on the text since the damn thing detailed the various ways to make multiple versions of a vampire step by step, ways to kill them, ways to help them, ways to strengthen them.

He snorted, turning back to the title page of the text and spent a moment translating the archaic Latin.

 _Compendium of Vampiric Kind,_ indeed.


	2. One

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been! **

**Chapter One: That’s Just _Wrong…_**

Harry snapped from sleeping to awake in a moment as the sunset.

He’d slept all through the night and day, which hadn’t done him any favors as far as his stomach and bladder were concerned, but, checking his bandages, he gave a grim smile as he realized _why_ he’d slept so long: his wounds were completely healed.

And judging by the gnawing in his stomach and the lethargy despite being shocked awake by his new _nature_ , the sleep was a result of his body and magic sucking him dry to manage the healing.

Knowing it would only get worse if he fought it, Harry used his preternaturally-acquired superspeed to change into something that would stick out a bit less than his HitWizard outer-robes.  His basilisk-hide trousers, boots, and gloves would suffice, though with some less-obvious weaponry than the Sword of Gryffindor, but he swapped his tunic and robe for a soft cotton t-shirt in a faded black to match his pants, tossing a royal-blue zip-up sweatshirt on top.  It had been more than a few years since he was a sixteen-year-old wizard the first time he went through 1996, all he could hope was that a hoodie and leather pants weren’t _too_ out of place in California…though since he was probably about to be hunting, it wouldn’t make much of a difference even if he did attract notice.

Letting his dhampir instincts take over, Harry took a deep breath, easily honing in on the dark-magic-rich scent that cast a net over the Hellmouth.  From what he could tell, a lot of that dark magic was going into making sure that the sheeple didn’t notice anything _odd_.  Like a vampire coven living in nearly every cemetery or the demon bar down by the docks that Harry easily caught wind of as he sped through the town.

Though even _sheep_ knew to fear the wolf, and the more aware of the “normal” humans residing in Sunnydale, CA seemed to batten down the hatches as soon as the sun went down.

Must be a bitch in the winter and a veritable party in the summer months, the currently late-August sun – according to the date on a newscast in a window as Harry hunted for the most replenishing meal his instincts screamed was on offer – disappeared much more slowly than that of early January after all.

Before long, he drew to a stop as his eyes caught up with what his nose and magic had scented out for him, Harry taking a deep-but-silent breath.  This wasn’t a doe or another vampire, but neither was it _human_ …strictly speaking.  Honestly…Harry wasn’t quite sure _what_ kind of creature it was, only that it positively _stank_ of dark magic and evil intentions to belie the “wholesome” picture the middle-aged man with his grey suit and American flag lapel pin made.  Anyone trying _that_ hard to be perfectly normal _had_ to be fucked in the head, as his own experiences with Vernon and Petunia bore out.

He waited patiently for his prey to drive away from the city council building, following the navy blue Ford Crown Victoria with an ease that was more than a smidge disconcerting.  He wished he’d been able to hide away while getting a handle on his new… _self_ , but needs must…and better an evil _something or other_ than an innocent human who got too close to his cave.

The car stopped, the creature-in-a-man-suit stepped out, his head turning as if he sensed he was being stalked.

But by then it was already too late.

For Harry leapt, he caught, and he _feasted_ , emerging fangs buried in the pampered – and a bit rubbery to be honest – skin of a California-tanned throat.

His prey _burned_ with power, putting up a struggle that would have been more than impressive…against another creature.

Harry _wasn’t_ another creature.

He was a dhampir, and one of the things that made them equally respected, feared, and hated in every realm was their preferred prey – meaning, the stronger, the better.

And they were designed to hunt and feed in a manner that suited their tastes.

Which in the case of Harry seemed to be powerful dark creatures…though that might change once he was replenished and no longer had to deal with the desires sparked from his healing.

Power and strength ran through him as the creature’s blood slid down Harry’s throat like the finest of aged wines, soothing his thirst and sating his hunger…at least for blood.

Though after drinking down the creature in his grasp to the last drop, somewhere around five liters of blood if he remembered his health class facts, it would take a few hours most likely before sinking his teeth into something with a bit more substance and a lot less magic to it.

Just as he drew in the last mouthful and began to consider clean-up – a _tergeo_ for the remaining blood then stuffing him in his own car, maybe? – Harry arched a brow as the whatever-it-was-pretending-to-be-a-politician crumpled in on itself, like a balloon with the helium released, leaving on the sucked-dry shell and a finely-tailored suit laying on the ground.  Apparently whatever-it-was didn’t have real bones…and as he watched the skin dry out and flake away into the wind, or any actual form once the magic was sucked out of it and whatever passed for a soul for that creature was released.  Handy.

He’d have to plan out the clean-up better next-time…and he was already convinced there would be one.

For one thing, Death had dropped him into a place called the _Hellmouth_.

And for another…he gave a vicious grin down at the empty suit before speeding away back to his cave…that had felt _damn good._

Almost better than sex even… _almost_.

…

_Elsewhere as Harry caught his prey…_

Whistler snapped his head around to stare at his female counterpart as he felt things… _shift._

There had been a power-flux the night before in Sunnydale’s Hellmouth, but with the Slayer inbound from her _disgrace_ of burning down her high school gym in Los Angeles, some reaction from the area was expected.

This was different.

This had the male half of the “Powers That Be” exchanging a panicked glance with Ephemeral and rushing to check the codex.

If the Senior Partners, his and Ephemeral’s eternal and _evil_ other halves, thought that they could move up the Apocalypse, his mate Vanity was sleeping on the couch!  He’d leave punishing Hope to his sister, her mate.  But before he could plan out an evil night of nagging and involuntary chastity for his mate, Vanity himself rushed into the “inner sanctum” of the Light-side.  Well, Light _ish_.  Whistler, also known as, Balance, didn’t try and pass himself off as a _total_ goodie-goodie…that was Ephemeral’s job.

“What did you two _do?”_ Vanity hissed at the twins, eyes narrowed as his own twin followed him in and regarded her lover with an equally-demanding gaze.

“It wasn’t us.”  Ephemeral denied immediately.  “Neither of us as left the conclave since Balance went to send that brooding creature to Sunnyhell to help the Slayer along her destined path.  It must have been one of you who did…whatever it is.”

“Uh, Ephie.”  Whistler whistled under his breath, the habit that had gotten him his nickname from a much-younger Hope in another age when the two of them had teamed up against their immortal siblings in that round of cosmic dice.  “The Apocalypse is off… _maybe_.”

“What do you mean?”  Ephemeral rounded on her brother, marching over to read the codex from over his shoulder, then falling into a pout on the floor.  Damnit.  _Someone_ has thrown a spanner into their games this time.  She was _tired_ of having to play on the Light-side this time, she was ready for the next epoch!  Hope had _promised_ they could be evil together in the next age!  “Fuck-a-duck.”

“Exactly.”  Vanity slumped down into his mate’s favored chair.  “Someone – and they’d have to have a shit-ton of power – dumped a Null into our game.  The codexes have blanked.  We’ve no way to predict the moves of our minions…or the end of the game, let alone manipulate the outcome.”

“Who has that kind of power?”  Whistler wondered as he perched himself in his love’s lap, happy to see him even under such shitty – and problematic – circumstances.

“A primordial.”  Hope, the most senior of the quartet, answered drily.  “So whatever unlucky fucker that’s already fulfilled their Fate and made themselves into a fate-nullifier,” or Null.  “We can’t just off them and be done with it…and that was _if_ we manage to figure it out.  All we can do that this point is stick with the status-quo and watch where the game takes us…as much as that sucks Zeus-dick.”

…

_Sunnydale_

Giving his neck a tension-relieving crack, Harry rolled his shoulders after he ran with his new speed, stopping a few blocks from the scene of his feeding to test the air and feel for threats with his new powers and instincts.

It may be due to the proximity of what _was_ a powerful demonic creature of some kind, but Harry could neither scent nor feel a thing that could hurt him…not as he is now at his peak.

If he’d come across anything or anyone whilst still injured however…even in this cookie-cutter-quaint part of the well-to-do denizens of the Hellmouth – either human or otherwise – he’d likely have had one hell of a fight on his hands.

It probably wasn’t what Death had _meant_ by lying low until he had a grip on his powers…but needs must.

And Harry had _needed_ a feed before he stopped ignoring the humans around him who smelled like plain white bread – or the blooded equivalent anyway – compared to the seven-course _feast_ of…whoever-it-was that his instincts had led him to.

Plain non-magical blood wouldn’t have done much of a thing to replenish his core, but it would have worked to strengthen his body, and if pushed far enough even a creature like he was now would be willing to sate one need at a time if given no other option.

 _Something about this place_ …  He wondered absently to himself as he made a vertical-jump up onto the spire of a church.  There was a…confluence of some kind, which seemed to act as a system of exchange between different types of mystic power.  He felt… _drunk_ on it as he stood in the shadows of the church bell, intoxicated in a way that even his feeding hadn’t managed as he opened his magic up to the area to get a sense of things.

He got rather more than he bargained for, even in such a place as a _Hellmouth_.

Harry – or perhaps his inner dhampir – easily sensed the location of the biggest caches of power.  Opening his physical eyes as well as the metaphysical, he arched a brow as in the glow of the harvest moon he realized that one such cache of power – and the darkest of them all – was underneath the damn _high school_ of all places.  He shivered, having an uncomfortable sensation of déjà vu at the implications _that_ could have.

With no little amusement he counted out forty-three churches – a bit much for a place that according to the Welcome sign he passed as he got tired of lurking in the bell tower like Quasimodo and took a walking tour of his new… _territory_ , was just under forty-thousand people he supposed.  The dhampir in him was reveling in the wealth of power caches he might feast upon, and the mass of demonic power that the city breathed out into the atmosphere.  Consciously or not, the moment he’d drained his first feed in the streets, Harry had claimed this place for his own.

And while his little cave to the southeast was fine for the moment, he’d have to see about moving in somewhere a bit _closer_ to the power-vector that was pumping strength into his very veins with every breath he took of the power-laden air.

Knowing it was late for businesses other than bars and other places that catered to the nightly crowd – human and otherwise – Harry gave one last appraising look around the park he’d found his way to, having counted out a dozen cemeteries on his walkabout, the last leading him to the quiet park with its lake and pretty trees.  With a smirk for the vampire he _felt_ – and fuck, these vampires here were just _wrong_ from start to finish, whoever created them had right fucked them over…or fucked up on the blood magic when cursing them…or something, a mystery that he’d turn his mind to another day – lurking in the shadows of the trees, he let his magic dance around him a moment, then spun on his heel and vanished with a soft _crack_ of apparation back to his little hideaway.

Granted, performing apparition wandlessly wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as difficult for Harry as learning actual wandless spells, and was a skill he’d practiced endlessly once Voldemort had died, never wanting to feel as powerless as he had in the graveyard during Voldemort’s resurrection.

He needed to do some – he shuddered – _research_ , both on himself and the creatures of his world.

His Compendium would help with the first, and a little at least with the second, but he’d need to find a source of information to really learn what he was dealing with.

The… _entity_ he’d fed on – which he still had no _idea_ what or who it actually was – had been powerful, powerful enough that something told Harry that even with being the predator of predators in this new world, he’d have had one hell of a fight on his hands if he hadn’t utterly shocked his feed.

Whatever it had been, it had never even _considered_ the fact that it might end up prey – which said quite a bit about its power in Sunnydale, both innate and acquired.

Picking up the Compendium, Harry made himself comfortable on his sleeping bag, back resting against a rock formation and legs kicked out in front of him, ready to bite the bullet and learn whatever it was Death had done to him.

Paging through the thick tome, thicker than anything he’d ever seen even Hermione haul around whilst at school – including the dreaded “Hogwarts: A History” – he mused aloud:

“Be a lot easier if you were just about the vampires _here_ and not everywhere.”

Only to jump, hands clenching on the leather binding as it took every bit of his new supernatural control to keep from hurling the damn thing across the cavern and far _far_ away when it began to glow and… _shift_ for lack of a better term.

Perhaps, _transfigure_?  Change?  Morph?

Whatever it was doing, it reminded him far too much of a different book that had a mind of its own, though Tom’s diary at least only responded to written words and not the _spoken_ word.

That had implications Harry was _not_ pleased with, gift from Death bedamned.

Death wasn’t exactly high on Harry’s happy-list, what with making him into an immortal creature very much against his will…or at least it _would_ have been against his will, if he’d had an inkling that it was possible or in the offing in the first place!

Taking a deep breath, Harry flipped the Compendium back to the title page with exquisite care, gingerly using only the very tips of his gloved fingers to accomplish it in the quest to see if the book was willing to give him a clue as far as what it had changed itself into.

The title was still the same archaic Latin, that much hadn’t shifted with the rest of the tome.

But the leather was a bit _darker_ if possible, the pages had both diminished in number – though not by much – and had gained a tinge of a metallic-scent to them beneath that of old parchment, and under the title, was a second line, a subtitle: _Vampyr._

“Okay then…”  Harry blew out a breath.  “So apparently you take requests.  Can you show me all the information you have about the kind of dhampir I am?”

The Compendium glowed again, though this time with a silvery light instead of the red-tinged-black of the first shift, shrinking a great deal more and the leather turning a pale grey while the scent of old blood disappeared, the subtitle itself shifting to read _Dhampir_ _– Harry Potter Black._

“Well now.”  Harry grinned, eyes gleaming as he turned to the index and saw chapters covering everything from personal history to powers and abilities.  “This is going to come in _very_ handy, indeed.”

…

A week passed, Harry spending most of it either buried in his Compendium or doing the rounds with the realtor he’d set himself up with the day after his first feed.

In the process of touring houses, the rumbling gossip channels of Sunnydale had also taught him a thing or two.

For one, his feed had apparently been the damn _Mayor_ , one Richard “Dick” Wilkins.

Somehow, having a demonic entity of some kind as Mayor for the Hellmouth made a lot of sense, especially with the notice-me-not spell blanket – or something similar at least – that seemed to keep a lot of the sheeple of the small city deaf-dumb-and-blind to the demonic underworld that lived and worked and hunted around them on all sides.

Second, that the town had a bar called _Willy’s_ that was good for either information – which Harry was in dire need of about everything except himself and this world’s version of vampires at this point – or blood or other more _exotic_ feeding needs.

And third, that the town also called itself home to a Watcher…who was in the process of preparing for the arrival of the latest Slayer.

Oh, goodie.

Just what your friendly (ish) neighborhood dhampir needed, a Slayer to come into town.

That had had him cracking his Compendium back open after sating his curiosity about the vampires of this world – though the tome had been a bit scarce on information about the how-and-why of their creation – to learn what, if anything it knew about Slayers.  The Compendium, like it said on the tin, only covered _vampiric kind_ , which made asking it about Slayers a long shot.  Still, Harry owed his ongoing existence to a series of long-shots and bad-odds scenarios and was never afraid to roll the dice just one more time.  The Compendium was a useful resource, but as Harry had come to realize after perusing the information it had on him, which was sparse on the personal-private details, it wasn’t all knowing, simply a repository for _known_ information on a subject to do with vampiric kind, which could be misleading as in several instances Harry had noticed discrepancies or out-right contradictions in the text.

This time, it netted him a volume even slimmer than his own.

According to the Compendium, Slayers were _created_ not born, sometime around the creation of the modern vampires that ran around the surface world.  And that yes, they had some sort of demonic power that made them such efficient vampire-hunters.  Other than that, the pickings were slim, save for a section that recounted notable Slayer-slayers among vampires.  Most only managed a single kill, but one vampire from the Order of Aurelious actually had _three_ under his belt, though was usually only credited with two.

William the Bloody or Spike, was a fascinating case-study for Harry’s suspicions regarding this world’s vampires.

He was known to be the Slayer-of-Slayers, openly defeating two and draining them – which bestowed power on a vampire in and of itself, Slayer blood according to the Compendium being a cross between growth-hormone and Exstasy for vampires – while turning a third who was subsequently slain by her own Watcher, giving Spike a vendetta against the organization for killing his only childe.

William was a nobleman, a poet (and an awful one by all accounts), businessman and lawyer before his turning.  A member of the direct line of the Order of Aurelious, and both one-fourth of the quartet making up the Scourge of Europe: himself, his Sire, his Sire’s Sire, and his Sired-sister; as well as one-third of the Whirlwind: himself, his Sire, and his Sired-brother.  Vicious, deadly, but known to be both charming and mercurial, William the Bloody was perhaps the most non-conformist of all the vampires this world had to offer.

Harry, naturally, liked him immediately even just by reputation.

By the time the ink had dried on Harry’s new lair, the cave having officially gotten old, a run-down mansion on Crawford Street with massive windows and a neglected garden complete with an old fountain with a carving of Artemis adorning it, he was thoroughly ready to investigate the strange creatures calling themselves vampires further…as well as the creature known as the Slayer.

Which brought him to two locations within quick succession as the city prepared for the rapidly-arriving Spring and the demonic forces braced themselves for the soon-to-arrive Slayer: Willy’s Bar and the high school library, not necessarily in that order.

…

Rupert Giles, a member of the Watcher Council, was fussing over the arrangement of his texts in the locked cabinets in his office.

He’d been stationed on the Hellmouth for several years, and had learned of the death of the closest Watcher near him, Merrick, who much like Giles was one of the more… _interesting_ members of the Watchers Council, hence both of them being more-or-less exiled thousands of miles away from the Watcher Council’s headquarters in London.  Rupert grieved for Merrick, but found himself excited nonetheless that the Council had arranged for the current Slayer’s mother to find employment in Sunnydale, with Rupert himself overseeing the Slayer.  It was a dangerous post, especially on a Hellmouth, but one that was the dream of most of the Watchers in the field.

With the young woman’s immenent arrival, thanks to his post as the high school librarian he knew to expect her any day now, Rupert had moved many of his references to the high school library rather than have to suffer a teenager coming-and-going from his home at all hours…which wouldn’t look good to the local populace, even a populace as oblivious as that of Sunnydale.

Supernatural issues they were blind to.

But a young girl having a too-close relationship with an older male authority figure was an all-too- _human_ concern for the busy-bodies of the Californian housewife to overlook.

Needless to say, when one of the stacks _moved_ whilst he was shelving the current haul of returned library books, he was more than a little startled.

Normally, from all the Watcher’s Diaries he’s read, such events don’t really begin to surface until the Slayer was in town…though at least his surprise visitor didn’t _appear_ to be a bloodthirsty fiend.

Rupert, however, was too familiar both as a Watcher and a warlock of the human face of evil to feel any relief at the young, handsome, and _human_ good-looks of the being that stepped forward from what appeared to be a series of underground passageways from the glimpse Rupert received before the bookshelf swung back into place with a click.

A mystery for him to explore at another time, as while he’d been examining the newcomer, the newcomer had been studying himself as well, apparently liking what he saw – or well enough to speak anyway.

“You much be the Watcher.”  The _young man_? Commented in a voice that carried the crisp tones of Giles’s mother country.  “As you’re the closest thing to home I’ve laid eyes on since coming to this too-sunny locale.”

“Quite right.”  Giles quickly abandoned any attempt at pretense he would have made as he watched the _being_? Move throughout the library with a distinctly predatory prowl, though he relaxed a bit when he, _it?_ , easily touched the crucifix adorning a bible, even paging through it for a moment between glances shot from too-green eyes.

Not a vampire then, at least, or any of the other demonic races that have an allergy to anything holy.

He unwound a bit more and came closer as the _entity_?, sat and played a bit with the real-silver globe residing in the center of the round library main table, the smirk the other man – he was at least partially convinced of that much – shooting him making it clear that he’d chosen to display his non-reaction, likely for the very purpose of making Giles a bit at ease.

“Rupert Giles.”  He introduced himself, pulling out a chair across from the green-eyed male.  Whoever, or whatever he was, he was dangerous, of that much Giles was convinced.  To _whom_ however, had yet to be established.  “Librarian, warlock, watcher.  And you are…?”

“Harry Potter Black.”  His… _guest_ gave another smirk as he purposefully thickened his accent over the very-British name.  “Former agent of Her Majesty, newly retired and resident of what is apparently the equivalent of demonic cat-nip.”  He sighed, leaning back in the chair.  “I’ve found myself in need of information of just _what_ it is I’ve gotten myself into by moving here, Mr. Giles.  And you were referred to me as just the man to see to remedy my rather appalling ignorance of the species _demonic Americanis_.”

“Just so.”  Giles smirked right back at his fellow Englishman.  “Discarding of course, the obvious solution of _moving elsewhere,_ what is it you need to know, Mr. Black?”

“Everything.”  Harry told him, green eyes sharp now that he’d managed to at least gain a status quo with the suspicious man, if not an out-right truce.  “Starting with _what the hell is wrong_ with those creatures you lot have dubbed vampires?”  He shook his head in disgust.  “I saw one wearing disco-chic in the park last night getting it’s ass kicked by a tiny blonde in a mini-skirt after trying to nab a pair of teenagers for god’s sake…that’s just _wrong_ on so many levels.”

“Oh Mr. Black…”  Rupert sighed, shaking his head.  Though the information revealed at least told him his Slayer was in town if not already taking classes.  “You have no _idea_ …”


	3. Two

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been! **

_Author’s Note: Surprise!  Months without hearing from me and now two updates in two days! I’m also working on polishing a chapter for LokaSenna’s Time and Again, as well as some other projects so I’m hoping I’ll have other things to share next week._

_Enjoy lovelies!_

_MPD: Multiple personality disorder._

**Chapter Two: Demonic MPD**

“I wouldn’t continue that line of thought if I were you.”  Harry commented drily from where he leaned in the shadows of the seemingly-required alley behind the local teenage hangout.  From what Harry could tell, dark alleyways outnumbered even the forty-three churches and twelve – or was it thirteen? – graveyards in the sleepy California town.

The Hellmouth certainly hadn’t proven boring in the ever-climbing number of days he’d been in town.

Yesterday he’d made contact with the resident Watcher…who seemed to be a better sort than he’d expected from what his _Compendium_ had had to say about Slayers and the men who manipulate- er – _Watch_ over them.

A dark magic user – whether past or present Harry couldn’t quite make out, even with his new instincts and senses – wouldn’t have been his first or even hundredth thought of who would be put in charge of a hormonal teenaged killing machine with semi-demonic powers.

But – that aside – Giles had been a font of information regarding the Hellmouth and the demonic forces…even though he was clearly untrusting of Harry despite his passing a battery of tests beyond those that he’d willingly showed off upon his arrival (fondling a silver globe, thumbing through a Bible, etc.) to prove his lack of demonic heritage…at least…as far as Giles could _prove_.

The older man was still distrusting – showing a canniness and deep suspicion that likely stemmed from his dark-magic usage – of the powerful creature that had just randomly popped round.

And good on him for it.

Giles would come to trust him – or not – in time when Harry proved that yes, while he was clearly dangerous, he wasn’t necessarily dangerous to _Giles_ or his charge.

Though given his new…upgrades of a dhampir kind…Harry couldn’t really rule out being a danger to either human (or semi-human in the case of the Slayer) full-stop.

The previous night had also proven fruitful when his demonic real estate agent had handed over the keys to a mansion on Crawford Street after his gold had proven real.  It wasn’t the one he’d originally wanted with the conservatory in the center – that manor, apparently, belonged to the very being he’d just confronted, one of the premier Master Vampires of the Order of Aurelious.

That Order being the same that the fascinating specimen of Spike belonged to…and possibly held the answers to _what the fuck was wrong_ with this world’s version of vampires.

The Master Vampire whirled around in an impressive – even to Harry – display of speed and no-little flair for the dramatic, a snarl already tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his “game face” as Harry had learned the vampiric mask was called remained concealed behind the human exterior.

And what an exterior it was.

Angelus – the one with the angelic face – truly was a beautiful creature.

From face to form to voice – from what he’d overhead just before revealing himself – the third (or possibly second, or maybe fourth, things were a little fuzzy when it came to the _actual_ power behind the top tiers of the Order of Aurelious) ranked Master Vampire of his Line was a gorgeous creature.

Harry could easily see why even a vampiress with the ice-cold reputation of now-known-as-Darla stooped to turn him when she knew from all accounts that it wouldn’t please her _own_ Sire and Master that she’d done so without his consent.

“Ah, come now.”  Harry continued, waving an idle hand.  “Don’t be wroth.  You know I’m just saying what you were already _thinking_ Angelus…or is it Angel or possibly even Liam I’ve the pleasure of stalking this evening?  Anyway,” Harry shook off that line of thought, changing tracks with a split-second quickness that had served its purpose of disarming the strange creature that was Angelus – or the shell of him anyway – as the snarl disappeared at the wealth of Harry’s seeming knowledge over just _who_ it was that he – unwisely or otherwise – had chosen to stalk and then confront in a dark alley.  “Back to my point: crushing – to use the current teenager idiom – on a Slayer is nothing less than a recipe for heartache…likely literally once sweet Ms. Sunshine discovers that her valiant knight-in-the-shadows has more in kind with the things she _hunts_ than those she should hump.”

Angel grimaced a bit at the lapse into crudity – for more than one reason as the voice he’d long-ago identified with his demonic side and dubbed _Angelus_ cackled in the background.  Angelus had grown quiet – suspiciously so – just before this… _being_ had spoken and startled him.  Angel should have known something was wrong from that alone – Angelus _never_ bloody _shut up_ ever since Whistler had found them, at first trying to dissuade Angel from his current course and then – when that had proven fruitless – sticking to snide commentary about Angel, the new slayer, and California in general.

Angel and Angelus had held a strange detente for _decades_ before Whistler had found them in a gutter – as Angel had been the one in control at that point.

Angelus was simply too bloody strong for Angel to fight him all the time…unless he had a purpose driving him.

“Paying” for “his sins” by scrabbling out a meager existence feeding on rats and other pests was hardly the sort of steel-spine inspiring life that made for a strong defense against his demonic bodily-roommate.

For years, every now and again, Angel would wake up to silken sheets and rich manors or the heavy leather of a fine office chair.  Angelus would have taken control of _their_ body as Angel slept, seeing to affairs that his less-demonic self _refused_ to touch – such as managing their fortune and looking after their progeny…albeit from afar.  That changed the moment Whistler showed Angel a petite blonde powerhouse…and to say Angelus was _right hacked off_ would be an understatement.

Honestly, the only areas Angelus _wasn’t_ infuriated by their new co-existence that had him pushed back and down as far as Angel could manage was that one – he finally didn’t have to constantly drag their body out of the gutter anymore – and two – that Angel was at last feeding them properly…even if it was from raiding blood banks instead of lovely necks…Angelus would bloody take it after close to a century of starvation.

But the strength they _both_ gained from Angel’s new feeding habits was a double-edged sword.

Yes, they both were stronger as their shared body was _but_ …they _both were bloody stronger_ , making the fight over their current course of action – or rather _Angel’s_ current course that was heading nowhere but headlong towards a staking as far as Angelus could tell, and this stranger seemed to agree – had become vicious and took up much of Angel’s waking moments and more than a few of his resting ones.

That Angelus had turned quiet and – dare Angel even think it – _thoughtful_ , perhaps considering right before this being had spoken was less than a good sign as far as Angel was concerned.

Though one thing they could agree one at once: whoever or _what_ ever this being was – they were powerful to get the drop on both _them_ and the Slayer.

Ignoring the stalking of their person _and_ his advice – for now – Angel spoke after dragging his attention back to the problem in front of him instead of the one _inside_ of him.

And it was an _interesting_ problem, Angel could admit, which his demonic self seemed to agree with, as Angelus was quiet but Angel got a sense of… _appraisal_? _Caution? Fascination?_ From his counterpart.

A sense that didn’t really fill Angel with sunshine and happy thoughts, given that things which _fascinated_ his other half tended to end up destroyed like Dru…or worse to Angel’s mind, _remade_ like Spike.

Still, Angelus had always had an appreciation for beauty, one that to Angel’s mind was a hold-over from their human life as a wastrel and skirt-chaser, a habit that in the end _cost_ them that life as long-dead Liam chased his last skirt in Darla and was reborn as the vicious and sadistic Angelus.  And say what you like about whatever – and yes, at this point in his own appraisal of the being, Angel was banking on it being a _what_ more than a human _who_ – this being was or what they sought, they _were_ beautiful.  Short, messy black hair framed a face that screamed fine-breeding to Angelus’s discerning eye, with rich emerald green eyes that Darla would rather scratch out than admit to envying.  The creature was lean, and long, and wasn’t that a bitch given Angelus’s – and Angel’s own – preferences for bed partners, with this being hitting all the right notes, even being shorter and lither than Angel’s massive frame whilst still coming across as tall, strong, and above all – and worst for Angel but best for Angelus – _dangerous_.

Angelus was like his favorite Childe in that way: both he and William adored dangerous beauties far more than their lovely – but oh so frail – counterparts.

“Who are you?”  Angel finally asked, the faintest hint of an Irish lilt peeking through to point at Angelus being far too awake and aware for Angel’s peace of mind.

Harry smirked a bit at the vampire, having one hell of a good idea what was going on with the long silence from his tall-dark-and-befanged companion.

Demonic MPD must be a _bitch_ to manage, especially given the sheer power that Angelus was purported to possess.

“That’s for me to know, and you to – perhaps – find out, Angel.”  Harry retorted, finished with his first scan of the vampire and settling on the current moniker for the creature.  Though if he was reading the struggle in those deep brown eyes right – that hint of the Emerald Isle was likely Angelus rearing his head, possible due to Harry using his name.  If there was _one_ thing his last life had taught him, it was that names _could_ have power, even without the Taboo that Tom had cursed his with.  “More to the point: what in the world is a creature like you _thinking_ mooning over a bloody Slayer?  Unless I’m really speaking to Angelus and you’re planning something gruesome and likely sadistic with her?”

Angel grimaced at that, Angelus laughing uproariously in the back of his mind as his counterpart spoke up: _“He’s got you there, laddie.”_ Angelus mocked the Soul.  _“Slayers an’ vampires arena meant ta mix, or did ya learn nothin’ from what was done to our William’s progeny?”_

 _“ Your William’s progeny.”  _Angel pointed out spitefully rather than admit his other half had valid argument against his course.  Whistler had promised him absolution for Angelus’s sins if he watched over the Slayer…so watch over her he would.  Whether that would end in heartache…who could know?

Angelus, and Harry, and likely anyone else with a brain in their heads, but trying to argue with a vampire who’d made a decision was a wasted effort – and neither Angelus nor Harry were fools.

“That’s my business.”  Angel brushed him off.  “What’s yours?  Stalking?”

Harry tsked.  Obviously, the personality in charge of that luscious body wasn’t the more reasonable half – and wasn’t that a kick in the ass considering it was the half that supposedly “had a soul.”  Yeah…right…about that…  From the scans he’d been doing with his dhampir senses and powers and the meager amount of wandless magic he had at his disposal…that Romany clan that cursed Angelus had either _no fucking clue_ how to work with soul magic or just no fucking clue in general given how much they’d bollixed it up.  Angel/Angelus was a hideous mess of tangled and half-arsed spellwork…a tangle that Harry didn’t have the slightest clue where to start unraveling.

Still…it would be a challenge, and one that might bring him that much closer to the spell-work governing the vampires of this world…and how to fix it.

Damned Death.

Couldn’t just content itself with making Harry immortal despite his own wishes, it had to go and give him a challenge dropped into his lap at the first opportunity too…

“Perhaps you’ll find out, much like my name, in time.”  Harry settled with a non-answer, the vampire scoffing and turning away only to look back with a tinge of amber in his eyes giving away his struggle – and that Harry’s true target of the night was listening when Harry called Angelus’s name.  “Angelus?  Come find me next time you kick the traces would you?  We’ve a thing or two to _discuss_ …”

With a dark smirk that held more promise than a simple quirk of his lips should be capable of, Angelus nodded before his eyes turned dark once more, Angel disappearing into the shadows and moving at a speed that was truly impressive once he’d entered the underground tunnels.

“Curioser and curiouser…”  Harry mused as the vampire disappeared from his immediate vicinity – and his dhampir radar.  There was an impressive amount of power trapped within that vampire, more than the active personality seemed to be aware of.  Well.  It would be an interesting challenge, whatever the outcome.

And besides…it wasn’t as if Angel – deluded and confused and just right fucked-over from shoddy spell-work or not – was hard to look at.

No, not at all.

His side-errand finished, Harry continued on his way.

He had a mansion to furnish after all, and while much of his personal belongings had come with him to this world, furniture wasn’t anywhere on that list.

Harry was also pretty sure that his dhampir was _nesting_ of all things…trying to make their home as comfortable and pleasing as possible…though to what purpose Harry couldn’t even begin to discern, a problem for the _Compendium_ once he’d gotten his errands out of the way…and perhaps had a bite to _eat_ …after his unproductive chat with Angel, he was rather _craving_ a bit of vampire to tide him over…

And he knew _just_ the place to go looking, the Master having called in – from what Harry could tell – all of his Childer or progeny, as well as all of theirs and their minions, and so on and so forth, all to do with a prophecy.  All – that was – except for those of Angelus’s line.  Which was interesting, a clear sign of where they were in the Master’s favor – not at all – but _also_ could be taken as a sign of respect, fear even.  _Darla_ – bit of an insipid name for the bint to take but whatever – was slavishly devoted to her Sire…her progeny not so much.

The Master was being both spiteful in refusing them his favor, and canny – they’d never enjoyed his favor before and calling them _now_ – while likely to amplify his chances of success over the Slayer, could just as likely be his undoing.

Say what you like about even _Angel_ as he was now…but not one of them were lacking sheer _power_.

And for a trapped Master who had never favored them…leaving them scattered across the globe was perhaps one of the wisest decision he could make to ensure his survival.

…

Harry couldn’t hold it in anymore – he had to laugh.

Apparently, Angel had made an even bigger impression on the pretty blonde teenager than he’d anticipated.

Harry had gone hunting – feasting on an irritating vampire from the Order of Aurelious but not one of the main “inner circle” – before shopping and resting for the morning only to arrive at the school library mid-Slayer report.  Which was auspicious…but also irritating as shit as he had to wade through oceans of slang and sighing over Angel’s good looks to the meat of the issue.  Finally, he’d just had to interrupt when her sheer level of ignorance threatened to overwhelm him – wanting to keep himself secret a bit longer thrown to the wayside in the process.

“He’s not on your side, blondie.”  He spoke from the shadows of the stacks before moving further into the light, sharing a congenial nod with Giles before eyeing the rest of the little Scooby Gang that was forming right before his eyes.  “As far as I can tell…he’s not on anyone’s side, maybe not even his own.”

“What do you mean?”  Buffy frowned at the hot – but kinda scary/dangerous hot – stranger who had just let himself into the library and interrupted her report to her Watcher.

Xander was thinking something similar, as shown by his own interjection.

“G-Man?  Who’s tall-dark-and-deadly?”

Harry smirked at the whelp.  And really, there wasn’t a better description he could think of for the puppy that hadn’t grown into any teeth to speak of but was still trying to run with more dangerous predators…like the pretty blonde that he apparently hadn’t _quite_ figured out was anything but attainable for a normal plain-jane human boy like him.  At least the whelp had good instincts.  He’d pegged Harry as dangerous nearly as quickly as the Slayer and her Watcher each had.

They’d both just had the sense not to _say_ anything about it in front of the apex predator they could sense in him – even if they had no proof, _yet_ regarding his lethality.

“Your dark-knight mystery-man from last night?”  Harry cocked a brow.  “Vampire.  A Master in fact.”

“Like _The_ Master?”  Willow squeaked in dismay.  “Mr. Hunky Guy was the Master the others were trying to feed?”

Though now that she said it…it didn’t really fit the facts.

Harry rolled his eyes in commiseration with the consternated Giles.  “You’re going to need to educate this lot quickly Rupert if you want them to survive much longer.  Especially the mortals.”

“Yes, yes.”  Giles sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Of that I am aware.  No, Ms. Rosenburg.  There is a vast difference between a _Master_ Vampire and _The_ Master.”

“Huh?”  Buffy asked, still a little puzzled but not as lost as her new friends.  Her expression cleared as something her first Watcher Merrick had told her clicked into place.  “Like Lothos…right?”

“Yes, exactly.”  Giles brightened a bit at this show of intelligence from what could be an occasionally vapid – from his short acquaintance with her – blonde.  “Very good, Buffy.”

“A Master Vampire.”  Harry explained to the other two, though the Slayer – and her Watcher – were clearly still paying attention as well.  Likely to suss out his knowledge level in the case of the Watcher and maybe half-curiosity and half-appreciation for his looks and accent on the part of the Slayer.  “Is one that has managed to attain a certain level of age, power, and autonomy.  Whereas _The_ Master refers to a specific Master Vampire of the Order of Aurelious, the single oldest and most powerful vampire of that line in existence today.”

As he was speaking, he was flipping through several books before locating the one he was looking for – a tome on said Order that he’d spied Giles putting away on his last visit.  Flipping it open to a double-page illustration that highlighted the main players of the Order and their hierarchy.  At the top, naturally, was The Master with a profile sketch of his full bat-faced glory while below it simply had a list of known progeny including Darla and Luke, before off-shooting from Darla’s name to the two _other_ Master Vampires of the Order: Angelus and below him his own progeny William the Bloody, each of whom had sketches as well, though these were no doubt much more appealing to his mostly-teenaged audience than that of _The_ Master.

Teenagers, he knew well from his own experience, tended to listen better when they had visuals to go with information.

Finding an appropriate one in this case was easy enough, given that his _Compendium_ listed the sources for the information it provided, allowing him to make conclusions about said information’s veracity or biases or even completeness.

“Okay…”  Buffy trailed off, following…mostly.  “So who was tall-dark-and-fangy then?  And how do you know he’s a Master Vampire?”

“Because he’s from the Order of Aurelious as well.”  Harry tapped the picture of Angelus, though granted, it was from the Regency Era when men still wore their hair long and clubbed back, a vastly different look than the short-cropped spikes of the vampire from the night before.  “Angelus, the one with the angelic face.”

“Well…”  Buffy, eyed the picture with a half-hearted pout as she crossed her arms.  “They got that right for sure.  He’s a _major_ hottie.”

“And dangerous.”  Giles bit out, scowling at his charge.  “Though there is something about that name that is familiar…something just out of my grasp…”

“He’s been cursed with a soul.”  Harry shrugged at the goggle-eyed looks _that_ gem netted him.  He wasn’t about to get into just how erroneous he found what he’d just told them.  None of them were the right audience for his suspicions about this world’s undead…not _yet_ anyway.  “And was cast out by his Sire Darla as a result, who also forbid him from having any contact with his own progeny.  But given how right fucked-over he’d been by the curse…he wasn’t in any state to fight that order, Master or not.”

“What do you mean?”  Willow’s brow puckered.  “Everything I’ve read,” which even in only a couple days had been a _lot_.  “Says that Sire commands are absolute.”

“Ah.”  Harry held up a finger with a smile, the redhead reminding him of Hermione in simpler – and better – days.  “But Angelus is a Master Vampire, he doesn’t _have_ to obey his Sire’s commands, especially as Darla _isn’t_ a Master having never chosen to gain any autonomy from The Master despite making Angelus.”

“Added to which.”  Giles jumped in, focusing more on Harry than on Buffy for a moment.  The other Brit truly was an enigma to him.  And it hadn’t escaped his attention that Harry had diverted Buffy’s attention away from just _how_ he’d known that Angelus was a vampire in the first place.  A sighting in a dark alleyway wasn’t _exactly_ the best way to identify creatures after all.  “Angelus also Sired a Master Vampire of his own – William the Bloody.”  Giles winced at the thought of _that_ infamous Master strolling into town.  “Angelus was considered the most sadistic vampire in existence before his cursing, while William the Bloody was one of the deadliest.  Having even _one_ of them in proximity to The Master on a Hellmouth is hardly good news – cursed with a soul or not.”  He advised his Slayer.  “Be _careful_ , Buffy.  He may be helping you for reasons we can’t divine…but he may also be setting a trap for a Slayer.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Buffy waved off his concern.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t gone up against a Master before…and won.  Giles was worrying too much.  “Stake, cross, holy water.  I know the drill Giles.”

Harry and Giles shared a look of suffering before Harry left via the passageway, easily reading Giles’s desire to speak with his charge on the older man’s face.

No doubt warnings about _him_ were also about to be dispensed.

Too bad he had other things to do, sticking around to eavesdrop on just _what_ Giles thought prudent to warn his charge of regarding Harry would be good for a laugh if nothing else.

Pity.

But he had some research of his own to do.

This _Harvest_ sounded quite…interesting…

…

“Be careful with that one, Buffy.”  Giles commented after Willow and Xander had both left, Xander in more than a little of a huff do to Buffy’s less-than-subtle decline of his help with the Darla situation.

“Which one, who, what now?”  Buffy frowned.  She’d been warned about more than one “one” that afternoon, how was she supposed to know just _which_ “one” Giles was referring to this time?  “Angelus?”

“Well, yes him naturally.”  Giles huffed out a breath of air.  He couldn’t remember teenagers being this exhausting before.  Something told him it was something inherently “Buffy” and less having to do with her being either a teenager _or_ a Slayer.  “However, I was referring in this case to our _guest_ earlier: Mr. Black.”

“Oh, is that his name?”  Buffy asked surprised.  “Black?  That’s a bit weird for a name…”

“That’s his _last_ name Ms. Summers.”  Giles rolled his eyes in exasperation at this newest ditz moment from the young blonde.  “His given name is Harry, though as he failed to introduce himself earlier I would refrain from using it if or when you meet him again.”

“Why?”  She asked then added at the _look_ Giles gave her that implied she was either stupid or lacking basic manners.  “The being careful thingy not the name thingy – which is _so_ old-fashioned just FYI Giles.”

“Given that I can’t ascertain that Mr. Black is even _human_ let alone is the age he appears.”  Giles told her with plentiful dry sarcasm.  “Old-fashioned is likely appropriate.”

“Not _human_?”  She squeaked.  Man.  What was _with_ all the hotty-hots being demons or whatever in Sunnydale?  “Then what is he?”

“Not solely human at the very least.”  Giles corrected himself.  “Something which you would sense for yourself if you were training your Slayer instincts and preternatural senses, as we’d discussed earlier with Mr. Harris and Ms. Rosenburg.”

“Really?”  She cocked her head to the side.  “You can pick up more than human-vampire-demon?”

“With enough practice, yes, even Mr. Harris would be able to know when something is very much _not right_ even if he won’t be able to pinpoint what is wrong like you or I.”  Giles handed over a book for her to study with an admonishing glance as she blushed a bit and nearly vanished from his sight she moved so fast.

He heaved a sigh and cast his gaze towards the heavens.

_“Teenagers.”_

_…_

Giles’s sentiment was one that Harry would’ve certainly appreciated having had more than a few of his own moments of exasperation over teenage angst – even his own – both as a teenager and later through the clarity provided by age, experience, and betrayal.

Things that seemed earth-shattering to him when he was fourteen or fifteen were either now nothing to worry over – or alternately alarming portents of issues and betrayals to come that he wished he’d paid much more attention to at the time.

Sadly, he had a feeling that Ms. Buffy Summers was made of the same intrinsically heroic and blastedly-stubborn cloth as Harry’s younger self.

He could only hope that _her_ companions proved to be more faithful and her world far more forgiving than his own had proven to be by his end.

Still, he didn’t hold out much hope for it either.

In his experience – both of a personal and historical nature – a human hero either died still having the world, or lived long enough to become a villain far more fearsome than any they’d vanquished.  There was rarely a sweet kiss in the setting sun or a loving family to come home to.  No.  Not for them.

Though now that Harry was distinctly _in_ human…perhaps that could change.

Harry didn’t kid himself – he was hardly the pure soul that he had once been or the “Hero” or “Savior” that had been the perfect white-knight so many young girls had once swooned over.

All to the better.

His taste didn’t _quite_ run to damsels after all…the villain of the piece was perhaps more his style.

Time would tell…but already Angelus had his attention and interest.

And if Harry was any judge…he had the Master Vampire’s in turn.

The only question remained then was that of the Romany curse and the rather _unfortunate_ Soul.

Raising his arms over his head in a deep stretch, Harry rose from his silk-draped bed, the silver sheets and blankets all shot with white and pale green caressing his smooth – if scarred in places – skin as he stood, having no more time to waste on reverie that night.

The Harvest was afoot if the whispers and rumors he’d gathered while hunting the previous two nights – when he wasn’t avoiding the sunny blonde Slayer or amusing himself by stalking Angel or the Master’s favored Childer, a pair of vampire and vampiress by the names of Luke and Angelus’s own Sire Darla who fought like cat and dog – were to be believed.

More, he could nearly _feel_ the Fates of this world tugging the threads of things on the Hellmouth this way and that…and to Harry _that_ just _wouldn’t do_.

He mere presence, he was certain, was enough to send things spiraling off course…at least a bit.

But Fate was a persistent bitch, as he knew full-well.

It would try and correct the course it had plotted for this world.

Harry would have to be a bit more…proactive than he had been previously, though his interjection into the Slayer’s sphere had been an excellent way to start.

And while he didn’t plan on interfering with the Harvest, the Slayer was already set on _that_ course, he _would_ be getting a better lay of the land whilst the Aurelious vampires were all quite nicely distracted.

It was time to beard a lion in its den…or rather the Master in his hovel.

…

Harry tore his way through the handful of minions that had been left to guard the underground cavern that the Master of the Order of Aurelious had been forced to call “home” for the last sixty years if Rupert’s information was correct – which Harry was inclined to believe it _was_ given the whispers and rumors he’d been harvesting.

For a group that lived in secret beneath the cover of the cheerful California town, the demonic underworld in Sunnydale was markedly chatty.

At this point – Harry would be more than willing to admit that he had a love-hate relationship with fate…or whatever or _whoever_ passed for such a thing in this new world.  He was more than a bit aggravated with Death, over more than just his current made-him-immortal issue.  Death had been honest – infuriatingly so – during that meeting between…well…all things, or whatever one wanted to call it.

He’d also, at times, been infuriatingly _vague_ ; read: Harry was now an immortal dhampir when originally pre-agreement he’d been one (after a fashion) but most definitely _not_ the other.

Circling back around, the same could also be said of his supposed immunity to Fate – or anything and everything else that might have tried (successfully or otherwise) to control him in what he was now calling his _first life_.

Fate here was both far-too-similar (Harry would recognize active meddling _anywhere or anywhen_ after the events of his first world… *cough* Dumbledore *cough*) and so very, very different.

For one, and a reason Harry was loving Fate at the moment, at least a little, maybe only a fraction of a fraction of a percent…but still, a smidge more than nill; was that while fate or destiny or mere circumstance _could_ and at times most certainly _would_ work against him, the deck wasn’t stacked (yet) to the point where it was almost impossible to also work _for_ him…as it was at the moment in the form of a convergence of circumstances clearing out many of the Master’s minions in the further-flung reaches of the Sunnydale tunnels.  The circumstances at hand being the newly-arrived Slayer bringing a new level of paranoia and caution to the Master Vampire, and in response said Master sending most of his minions to guard his favored minion during the Harvest.  Harry snorted softly to himself as he idly removed another head from shoulders, the Sword of Gryffindor just as effective against vampires as it was against…well… _everything else_.  But in the case of vampires – this world’s curious and curiouser versions anyway – at least they had the grace to make clean-up easy…dust was _much_ easier to clean off of leather than blood…

Fearing the interference of the bubbly blonde teenager, the Master had left himself woefully under-guarded…for a confrontation with _Harry_ at least.

But then…Harry wasn’t looking for trouble with his unannounced and unanticipated visit… _per se._

That _didn’t_ mean he was hiding from it _either_ , as his own attempt at meddling in the Angel/Angelus situation could attest, a situation he wasn’t even _close_ to backing off of when it dovetailed so neatly with his investigation into the wrong-ness of this world’s vampires.

Besides…everyone needed a hobby.

And with all the years of eternity stretching out before him, something as complex as the botched curse or spellwork or what-the-fuck-ever that had made these vampires so _wrong_ was just what the doctor ordered to stave off boredom as Harry adjusted to this new world and his new life.

In his defense, he’d always been a curious creature with the ability to leap into and back out of trouble in a matter of moments…which really did explain a lot about both his childhood and schooling years and how very _simple_ it had been for Dumbledore to lead him around by the nose he perpetually stuck into things very much not-his-business.

If Harry had been an Animagus in this life…he was ninety-percent certain he would have been a cat of some kind.

 _“Dhampir.”_ The Master breathed, watching the stunning creature tear through his minions as if they – the members of the Order of Aurelious – were no more hindrance than tissue paper.  _“Impossible.”_

Harry shot the bat-faced old relic a grin filled with fangs – right before sinking them into the neck of one of the Master’s childer and drinking deep until the vampire turned to dust in his arms.

Cracking his neck with a slightly-unhinged smirk on his face, Harry walked up to the invisible barrier he could feel with his magic though it was invisible to even _his_ superior senses.  Lifting a hand, he caressed it as if stroking the spine of a lover, even as he felt a foreign – and so very temptingly _dark_ – magic fill the air, tingling against his inherent mental shields from his relatively new “creature” status.

The Harvest had come…and it was lighting up the Master like a firefly.

“It’s beginning.”  The Master said it like a benediction, with a voice that was rather deep and resounding for a creature as decrepit and weakened as he was to Harry’s eyes.

Not hardly worth a meal at all…as long as he was trapped in his cave anyway.

Harry would wager that any magic strong enough to break the barrier would also make the Master a true _feast_ for his dhampir side.

Holding out his arms from his side and lifting his face, the Master felt power, sweet sweet _power_ , filling him, as his second-favored childer fulfilled his task on the surface, confident in the power of the barrier to keep the dhampir _out_ even as it kept _him_ in.

A fool’s confidence, based on a single moment of Harry testing the barrier’s make and power, not its usefulness as a protection against _him…_ though he had no desire to be trapped by it _either_ , an outcome that seemed likely given that the barrier was distinctly _Light_ in feel…and Harry was no longer _Light_ in any way, shape or form.

No, he tread on the dark-side of grey now…and that was how he liked it.

So it was with no-little amount of amusement as he felt the magic empowering the Master abruptly cut off, leaving the Master as trapped and powerless as he had been before if the creature’s shouts and screams of rage were to be believed.

“Hmm.”  Harry observed aloud, drawing the creatures rage.  “Looks like your childer was no match for the little Slayer.”  He shook his head mournfully in stark contrast to his bright green glee-filled eyes.  “Too bad, _so_ sad.”

“You.”  The creature pointed one claw-tipped and shaking finger towards the dhampir.  “You had something to do with _this_.”

“Hmm, nope.”  Harry said with great cheer and a bright shit-eating grin.  “Not me.”  He leaned forward and whispered, as if bestowing a great secret.  “Fate’s already had her turn with me.”  Harry straightened and turned on his heel, tossing his final words for the bat-faced creature over his shoulder.  “Now it looks like it’s _your_ turn.”

The Slayer and the Master could fight it out between themselves…and Harry would take care of whatever was left afterward…one way or another.

He had no interest in a _formerly_ powerful creature like the Master, whose entrapment has made him a mere wisp of shadow of his former dangerous glory.

No…now Angelus on the other hand had already proven to be _much_ more interesting to Harry.

Interesting enough for Harry to risk upsetting this world’s Fate or whatever they call themselves here.

After all, Death had guaranteed his being Fate-free…his choices are his own, it was only _fair_ to share the wealth…so to speak.

 


	4. Three

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been! **

**Warning for this Chapter:** Kinda dubious consent?  Harry’s into it but he’s asleep when it starts so…yeah.  I’m going with a bit of somnophilia and a bit of dubcon and a bit of bloodplay but really mild for the last.

**Chapter Three: Hello, gorgeous**

_And there will be a time of crisis, of worlds hanging in the balance. And in this time shall come the Anointed, the Master's great warrior. And the Slayer will not know him, will not stop him, and he will lead her into hell. As it is written, so it shall be. Five will die, and from their ashes, the Anointed One shall rise. The Brethren of Aurelius_ _shall greet him and usher him to his immortal destiny._

  * Prophecy, _Buffy_ Season 1, Episode 5



…

_October 1, 1996; Sunnydale, California_

Harry had been kept more than entertained by the mishaps of the forming Scooby Gang as they tried to navigate the world of the supernatural between witches, vampires, and a killer She-Mantis – though he’d been less-than-amused that the Slayer had missed the eggs of the latter hidden at the school, she hadn’t even _checked_ to his disgust, forcing him to do that bit of dirty work himself.

Not that he was _personally_ at harm, what with the preferred prey of a She-Mantis being virginal boys, but it was the principle of slip-shod work that bothered him as a former HitWizard.

He took care of it.

Then strode right to Rupert’s office to have the Watcher give his Slayer a bollicking over said slip-shod work.

Feeding had become easier than ever since his little _visit_ to the “Master” in his hovel, apparently Harry’s brand of cheek had irritated the ugly fucker into making him the Order of Aurelius’s Number Two Most Wanted after the Slayer.

Fun times.

Life was _much_ simpler when he didn’t have to hunt but simply let the prey come to him.

Still, a bit of a look-see at the mess of spellwork that made up his new home’s version of vampires each time he fed from one had given him a decent idea of at least what they’re _supposed_ to look like spell-and-soul wise, which was still right-fucked but not nearly as badly fucked-over as gorgeous Angel/Angelus.

Poor, deadly, tormented thing that he currently was.

Gone over a _Slayer_ of all things.

Whatever the Romany did to him, it _clearly_ had affected his intelligence as well as the spellwork surrounding his soul from the glimpses he’d gotten of it.

Which was another thing and one of the main irritants of his current status-quo: Angel was avoiding him.

Perhaps fearing his effect on his _other_ half, perhaps just being a wanker, but either way Harry only caught brief snatches of looks at the beautiful beast before he ran off whenever he sensed Harry coming.

Really, the only time he got a good look at him and his fucked-up soul-situation anymore was when he was mooning over the Slayer…and that just wasn’t an attractive sight for _any_ creature, even if Harry wasn’t a morally-grey dhampir.

It had been weeks since he’d asked Angelus to pop by next time he won free…a request that the demon-half of the vampire had either chosen to ignore or a feat he hadn’t managed yet with Angel’s obsession with the little blonde Slayer, neither of which scenarios were _pleasing_ to Harry and had him on the edge of taking matters into his own hands…which he would once he was done furnishing his home and hunting down tomes and books for his library.

If there was one major irritation of his new life, it was starting from near-scratch on the research-materials front.

Given that Rupert was wisely wary of Harry it wasn’t like he could waltz into the high school library willy-nilly.

Sad that.

Though he was somewhat anticipating the reaction from the Watcher, his Slayer, and their pair of Scoobies when they figured out just what the fuck Harry actually _is_.

Should be brilliant fireworks.

There was almost nothing he liked better than blowing the preconceptions of the holier-than-thou out of the water.

As it was, all he’d needed to do was visit an electronics store and he didn’t even have to bother with popping round to deal with the suspicious goody-goodies in person.  It had always entertained him.  How the introduction of the supernatural tended to kill the interest in the mundane.  Rupert at least should know better.  Still, no skin off his that they’d yet to find the small recording devices he’d hidden under the library conference table and in Rupert’s office.

Even if he _did_ have to filter through countless hours of drivel to get to anything of worth, which brought him to the Sunnydale Funeral Home waiting on a being called “The Anointed One” to rise so Harry could _feast_.

Pissing off the Master was a secondary – but welcome – side-effect but Harry was after the power that such a creature would have running through its veins.

Whilst the Master was dead-set on gaining his freedom to open the Hellmouth and bring hell to Earth – dreadful plan that, Harry liked Earth as it was same as most demon and demon-adjecent beings he’d met in the weeks since he’d boarded a train to elsewhere – Harry was set on making sure such a thing never came about, putting him in _theory_ aligned with the Slayer and her Watcher but in reality Harry wasn’t one for _joining_ , let alone taking orders from others.

His offer to Angelus was more out of curiosity than anything else.

He could care less about what team the luscious demon played for, he just wanted to tinker with his clockwork a bit to see if he could free him of the nasty spell surrounding his glowy bits.

Death knew he loved a challenge.

Given Harry’s pique over being remade in a fashion he wasn’t originally happy with, making certain a challenge was handy to keep him from doing anything _hasty_ was simply wise on the part of the primordial being that had a certain _fondness_ for Harry.

“Good heavens.”  The startled sound of Rupert, crossbow in hand, coming upon Harry’s waiting place in the shadows of the Funeral Home drew him from his thoughts, Harry turning an arched dark brow on the trio of whelp, bookworm, and warlock that seemed to be missing a rather important component of their little group.  “You startled me, Harry.”

“Don’t know why.”  Harry smirked.  “Should’ve felt _something_ like me before you stumbled onto me.”  He tsked.  “Sloppy senses that, old boy.”

“Oh great.”  Xander commented, brows raised and eyes blinking rapidly.  “He’s not even _pretending_ to be human anymore.”

“No point when the Watcher here has already sussed out that I’m more than that, whelp.”  Harry rolled his eyes at the weapon-brandishing _that_ got him from the young ones.  “Stand down, children.  I’m not the sort of beastie you need to be worried about tonight, as I’m sure your Watcher has made more than clear.”

“To be fair,” Giles adjusted his glasses.  “I am Buffy’s Watcher, not Xander and Willow’s.”

“And where is your temperamental Slayer, hmm?”  Harry cocked his head in confusion.  “You’re packing a bit light to take out a swarm of vampires plus the Anointed One, Rupert.”

“He is rising?”  Giles sucked in a shocked breath, gaze locking on the young ones.  “Go get Buffy.  _Now._ ”

As the children ran off, Harry rolled his head on his neck to stare at Rupert as he leapt to his feet from his lotus position atop of a hearse as power rolled over the Funeral Home sending a chill down his spine.

“She’s not going to be fast enough.”  He warned, unsheathing his sword and heading for the door to the funeral parlor.  “Not to keep at least some of these from scurrying back to their Master.  Are you any good with that crossbow?”

“Good enough.”

Harry nodded.  “Watch the perimeter and tell your Slayer _not_ to kill me when she eventually shows up if you would, Rupert.”

“Harry, no matter _what_ I think you are I can’t let you walk into a massacre.”  Giles hissed at the back of the leather-clad male.

“You’re right, it will be a massacre.”  Harry tossed back over his shoulder with a wicked grin and glint to his eyes.  “But not of _me_.”

…

The vampires roared in pain or their death throes, blessed music to Harry’s ears as he left piles of dust in his wake as he moved from room to room, clearing out the funeral parlor with the absent strength of a fully empowered dhampir.

Heads rolled from shoulders turning to dust before they hit the ground, blood poured down his throat, and he’d yet to find this _Anointed One_.

Though…as he eyed up the small childlike vampire crouched behind a hulking bodyguard, he thought he might have finally hit pay dirt.

“The Anointed One, I presume.”  Harry directed towards the child-demon with a vicious grin and a laugh.  “You know they think your bodyguard is supposed to be this prophesized warrior for the Master.”  He shook his head, spinning his sword in hand.  “Silly creatures: prophecy is rarely so easily averted.”

“And yet you’ll try.”  Colin, the Anointed One, cocked his head.  “Why?”

“I fulfilled my fate.”  Harry grinned, even as Barboa charged for him, spinning out of his tackle and tagging him with a hiss of undead flesh on the poisoned edge of his sword.  “Now I enjoy spiting it.  Besides.”  He let his fangs descend slowly, not lisping around the elongated canines after practice since waking up a new species.  “A dhampir has to _eat_.”

 _That_ had Colin scrambling away towards the locked windows even as Harry spun out of Barboa’s grasp again, though this time leaving another severed head in his wake that turned to dust, wiping the edge of his sword clean of vampire blood before sheathing it, easily pouncing and snatching up the scurrying form of Colin as the vampire _Anointed One_ tried to dart around him for the exit of the funeral home.

“You know.”  Harry sighed, feeling let down.  “For a prophesized warrior I expected _more_.  Still.”  He shrugged, using his free hand to jerk Colin’s head with his game face and snapping teeth away from him and burying his fangs in the pearly white skin of a new vampire childer and one of particularly sweet taste given the young age of his turning.  “Bottoms up, yeah?”

Harry fed deep, feeling the power coursing from the Anointed One into his own veins, filling him to the brim nearly as well – but not quite – as the Mayor had done.

Perhaps there _had_ been more than met the eye with this prophesized warrior.

Now, they’d never know.

“Shut _up_.”  Buffy blinked as she charged into the slab room just in time to witness Colin’s body turn to dust and Harry take his thumb and swipe away then suck off a droplet of blood that had escaped during his feeding fest through the funeral home.  Some vampires had run when they realized what they were dealing with.  Those smarter or not as bound to the Master’s will, forcing Giles to do his best to keep them from spilling out into the streets and for Buffy and the rest to fight through before reaching the final sounds of battle coming from the funeral home.  “ _You’re_ a vampire too?”  She asked incredulously, eyes wide and shocked.

“No, he’s not.”  Angel noted, even as everything in him – everything _not_ Angelus anyway – shouted to get as far away from the being as he could.  Harry Black was dangerous to him in ways that he didn’t understand but still _felt_.  He knew it in his soul.

Unfortunately, Angelus knew it too.

And that knowing only made him more determined to emerge and confront the interesting creature.

“He’s a dhampir.”  Angel finished his thought with dread.

“Brava.”  Harry gave a flamboyant bow, eyeing the clueless bit of muscle that was lurking in the hallway.  “You caught me.  I’ll be going now, unless you want to try and stop me.”

“I’ll stop you, you…!”  Whatever threat Buffy was going to utter was silenced by the hand of Angel slapping down over her mouth, the much-larger vampire with a soul pulling her physically out of the way as she noisily complained and flailed in his hold.

“You _are_ a smart one aren’t you, Angel?”  Harry mused as he sauntered passed the group of Scoobies, Slayer, vampire, and Watcher.  “Ta.”  Walking into a shadow out of their sight, he spun and disapparated with a quiet _pop_ , leaving no sign of him when they rushed around the corner to try and follow in his wake.

…

After sending away Owen and reconvening the next day at the school library, Buffy confronted Angel and Giles: one for manhandling her and the other for allowing it.

“Okay, what the _heck_?”  Buffy fumed, Xander and Willow sitting quietly at the conference table in the center of the library pretending to be invisible.  Neither wanted to draw fire from either the vampire in the shadows or the Watcher and Slayer.  “Giles?  Angel?  Anything?”

“Harry Potter Black being a dhampir was not a situation I anticipated upon realizing he was either a part or non-human.”  Giles took off his glasses and pinched his nose, closing his eyes against the strain of staying up all night to research the little the lore and Watcher’s council knew about the beings.  “Given that they are so rare that most believe them to be true myths.  Angel?”

“Vampires – some of us.”  He admitted.  “Know of them due to a prohibition on turning or even feeding from pregnant beings.  If a Slayer is the natural enemy of vampires, dhampirs are their natural predator, created from us to hunt us, though,” he frowned.  “Nothing in any of the lore and legends I’ve heard regarding dhampirs insists that they feed on vampires _alone_.”

“Great.”  Buffy huffed, crossing her arms with a scowl.  “So, what?  Enemy of my enemy is my friend?  Is that what we’re dealing with?”

“He did tear through over a dozen vampires.”  Giles allowed.  “And from your accounts fed from the most powerful.”

“A child demon.”  Buffy made a grossed-out face.  “Ick.  Just when I thought the Master couldn’t get any worse.”

“Child vampires _are_ often the worst.”  Angel corrected her, lifting his brows.  “They have no impulse control, no sense of self-preservation.  They’re made only rarely for a reason.  As much as I hate to admit it being the only person in the room on Black’s dinner menu, but he did _all_ of us a favor by taking out the Anointed One and by forcing the Master to split his focus.”

“What do you mean?”  Giles asked, blinking.

“I knew there was rumor of a dhampir floating around the demonic circles.”  Angel propped one arm against a bookshelf.  “The Master gave orders to capture or kill him at all costs.  I just didn’t know his identity until last night, though it makes sense given my own run-in with him.”

“When was this?”

“Right after I met Buffy.”  Angel scowled.  “He was interested in my _other_ half though why I’m not certain.”

“Perhaps he’s hesitant to kill you so long as you’re ensouled.”  Giles suggested absently.  “Given that the Council has a similar policy in place.”

“Great.”  Xander announced.  “So we’ve got a what, a vampire-killing vampire-spawn running around Sunnydale to go with the rest of the creepy-crawlies?”

“Dhampirs feed on powerful blood.”  Angel corrected.  “Not just vampires, which is why both Giles and Buffy should take care in riling him.  Vampires may be his food of choice but push him and like any other demonic creature he’ll lash out – likely with deadly results.  Take his help, if you want.”  He advised as he shoved away from the bookcase and made for the underground tunnels.  “But _anyone_ interested in Angelus the way Black was interested in Angelus can only mean trouble.”

…

“Touché,” Harry chuckled from his home where he was listening to the conversation in real-time, having anticipated the confab.  “Soul-boy isn’t a complete idiot after all…”

Now if only he would stop fighting Angelus long enough for him to get a look at the demon’s glowy parts, all would be well.

…

_Sharp teeth coasted along tight muscles, nipping at Harry’s sides then his tightly-furled nipples, then the arch of his neck as he gasped.  Lips and teeth worked in unison, biting and sucking, leaving a throbbing patch of skin behind at the base of his throat as rough hands grasped his hips as they twisted in flushed heat pouring through his body, pinning him to the bed with the feeling of lush silk against his back and rough denim and metal grommets pressing between his thighs, freeing clever hands.  Hand that confidently found their way to their prize._

_Grasping and twisting as he mewled in tortured desire – bringing him close but never over the edge._

_Taunting and teasing, until sharp teeth – no,_ fangs _– bit down on the downy lobe of one ear, drawing free a single drop of blood as Harry came with a gasp._

_…_

Harry sucked in a breath as his eyes shot open, coming awake in an instant to the realization that his wet dream wasn’t a dream at all as he stared up into wicked brown eyes tinged gold.

Angelus pinned him to the bed, elbow down beside his chest and opposite forearm pressed to the pillow over Harry’s head, hips – with a suspicious wet patch – pressing into the V of his own as the vampire raised one hand with the pearly sheen of Harry’s spend coating it and lifted it to his mouth with nothing less than a knowing leer, the faint tinge of red on his tongue giving truth to the vampire having tasted him in his sleep just as he did now in a no-less intimate way as that facile tongue lapped up each and every drop that had coated his hand.

Lifting his own, Harry pressed his fingers to his throbbing ear lobe, healing it with a soft spell under a keen gaze before banishing any remaining blood from Angelus’s bite.

That answered one question – though not the way he’d have preferred even if it was _very_ in character for the vicious Master Vampire – as a dhampir Harry didn’t have the protection offered humans when it came to vampires requiring invitations to their homes.

“When I invited you over, Angelus.”  Harry told the vampire after a glance at the clock showed the hour close to midday, when all the smart vampire boys and girls were abed rather than risking the sun to make a house call.  “I didn’t quite have this in mind.”  He pressed up with his naked hips against Angelus’s jean-clad own, wrapping one long muscled leg around him as Angelus pressed right back with a smirk on his handsome face.

“No?”  Angelus questioned, grinning.  “Twas _exactly_ what I had in mind once I saw ya all sprawled out naked and beautiful.”  He leaned in and whispered hotly in the same ear he’d bitten – and wasn’t that a rush.  Harry’s blood tasted like nothing he’d ever tried before, even better than his William’s descriptions of Slayer blood.  That one drop he’d stolen more than enough to convince the soul – when the wanker took back control – that he’d fed well while the arsehole slept.  After it’d taken Angelus _weeks_ and _weeks_ to claw back enough control to wake and walk around, let alone take the gorgeous dhampir up on his offer to pop ‘round, the fucker deserved whatever torments his own imagination cooked up.  “Much better than a simple _hello, gorgeous_ , don’t you think?”

“Hmm.”  Harry stretched his arms up before letting them come to rest on the vampire’s broad shoulders, more turned on than he’d like to admit by the situation, not the least of which was Angelus teasing him to orgasm while still fully clothed.  Though at least that cum stain on his trousers said that the sensual vampire hadn’t been unaffected by the show at least.  “I’ve had worse wake-ups, sure.”  He laughed, shaking his head.  “But this wasn’t what I invited you over for, Angelus.”

“What can I do ya for then, pretty?”  Angelus leaned down and nipped lightly at Harry’s jawline.  “What need does a dhampir of some power, such as yerself, have wit’ a bad master vampire like meself if _no’_ this?”  He nipped again and pressed his renewed arousal against Harry’s own, pulling a groan from an ivory throat and a flutter of inky-black lashes over what were the most beautiful eyes he’d like to as ever seen.

Angelus didn’t know if he wanted to gaze into them for days or pluck them right from that sculpted face.

But.

Until he knew he’d be content with the gazing since the dhampir wasn’t like to have another go when he knew as well as Angelus did that they had limited time to accomplish…whatever it was the powerful creature wanted with him.

He couldn’t lie.

Watching him fang-deep in that poncy little _Anointed One_ had given him the last bit of needed push to take over once Angel slept, the soul not fighting him as hard at the moment, likely convinced that with Harry’s species discovered he wouldn’t go looking for the pretty.

More fool him.

Angelus knowing just _what_ kind of danger he was courting in Harry Black made him _more_ interested not less.

The damn soul’s been sharing mind space with him for over a hundred years and _still_ didn’t understand a fuckin’ thing about him, the self-righteous wanker.

“Magic,” Harry whispered back against Angelus’s lips as he gave in and kissed the rotten bastard pinning him to his own bed, the kiss as much teeth as it was lips and tongue.  “Specifically that mess that’s been made of your lights and clockwork.”

Angelus reared back, eyes wide with shock as he stared down at the smirking – and just ruddy beautiful with a dark look in emerald eyes and lips bruised from Angelus’s teeth – form of the tempting dhampir.

“Or didn’t you know?”  Harry leaned up, leveraging them so he sat naked and unashamed on Angelus’s clothed lap, legs wrapped around the vampire’s hips and arms resting on his shoulders.  “A dhampir like me is the product of a vampire and a _witch_.”  He hissed, eyes bright with power as he flipped them, pinning the Master Vampire back onto the silk sheets, hand hard against straining wrists.  “I can see the mess the Romany made of you and with time I might be able to fix it.”

“I’m listening.”

Grinning down at the intent form resting with deceptive docility beneath him, Harry gave one more nip at Angelus’s lush mouth before springing with his full speed from the bed, wrapping a silk robe around his naked form then gesturing with a tilt of his head for Angelus to follow him, passing through the darkened house as Angelus darted from shadow to shadow to the library where he waited at the doorway until Harry drew all the draperies, dimming the massive room.

“Soul magic, as I’ve had unfortunate experience,” Harry told his audience of one as he pulled a few dusty tomes from inside protective cases.  “Can be some of both the simplest magic in the world and also some of the most complex.  One thing I do know: whatever bollocks you’ve all been fed – _every_ vampire has a soul.”

“How?”  Angelus scowled, watching as the powerful creature paced around the room and flipped to specific passages for him to peruse as Harry explained himself.  “When the demon comes in the soul leaves, taking the person you were before completely over.”

“Not completely.”  Harry told him with a shake of his head, sighing as he flicked his hand and lit the stacked wood in the fireplace, taking the chill from the room.  “The soul is suppressed, yes.  I’ve seen that in both newly risen vampires and the Master alike.  But it’s not gone.  Which is what makes your case one I’m all too familiar with.”

“How do you know this?”  Angelus frowned, even as he parsed through the dry Latin texts before him, counting every second he had before sunset when Angel would retake their shared form.

“I was in a situation not unlike you own at the core: I had a soul hitchhiking alongside my own for sixteen years.”  Harry told him, needing Angelus to believe him if he was going to help the vampire, for his own amusement if nothing else.  Though now that he knew firsthand the easy wicked sensuality of the Master Vampire he looked forward to the day when he did more than timeshare with an intruder in his body.  “For that time I dealt with issues of emotions, thoughts, even personality traits that weren’t my own.  It happened to me so young that I had no idea until after the soul shard was removed _but_ ,” he held up a finger for emphasis.  “Because it was only a shard of a soul and not the entirety, I didn’t have to timeshare with an intruder the way you are.”

“The soul.”  Angelus blinked, feeling almost as if he were human again and had the breath knocked from him.  “It’s not… _mine?”_

“Unless you were born with _two_ souls, no.”  Harry snorted.  “It’s not.”

“Why is it in control then?”  Angelus demanded, shoving away from the table and pacing as _that_ doozy penetrated his thoughts.  “If this is _my_ body, shouldn’t _my_ soul be the one in control?”

“You’re right, it should be.”  Harry agreed, moving to sit and propping his head on his hand.  “If you weren’t a vampire.”

“Because as a vampire.”  Angelus closed his eyes as he stopped pacing when the pieces clicked together.  “My human soul was suppressed when the demon came into me.”

“Meh.”  Harry wobbled his free hand side to side.  “Kinda.  Your species of vampire is the result of some of the ugliest mixtures of necromancy, soul magic, and demonic summoning working almost as a virus that I’ve ever _heard_ of.  When you’re turned, from what I’ve been able to learn, your soul is suppressed and mixed with demonic essence, allowing the demonic nature to take control.  No conscience, no remorse, no compassion – at least at first.  All thinking creatures can evolve, and vampires aren’t any different or else there’d be no Master Vampires, just primal beasts lashed to their instincts to feed and reproduce.”

“So, what?”  Angelus asked impatiently as the sun tracked ever closer to the horizon.  “Is there a way to undo it?”

“Oh, there always is with soul magic.”  Harry told him with a wicked smile.  “That’s the catch you see: when you mess with the human soul, a vessel of pure power that was designed to be complete, it always works to be made whole.  The soul that’s given you the persona of Angel isn’t yours and it knows it, hence the constant struggle and remorse.  Whoever is taking up space inside you is being punished as much as you are, and I’d bank on the Romany tribe being well _aware_ of that when they summoned a soul and trapped it inside you.”

“If the soul is as trapped as I am.”  Angelus noted, eyes dark with his whirling thoughts.  “Then it wants to escape as much as I do.”

“Mhmm.”  Harry nodded with a half-grin.  “That it does: the catch to their messy spellwork.  It _yearns_ to be freed from its prison within you and there has to be a loophole in the spell to allow it as true soul magic the likes of which that it would take to _completely_ contain a soul in a living – or undead – vessel is the sort of thing that went to the wayside with the Egyptian necromancers.”

“How?”  Angelus demanded.

“I don’t know.”  Harry admitted.  “Reading spellwork isn’t a precise business especially over a century later.  However,” he added at the growl from his companion.  “However.”  He stared Angelus down until the Master Vampire turned and faced the fire.  “I have a question of my own: how did a vampire with a hitchhiker come to be in the Hellmouth?  Shouldn’t you be living in torment somewhere?”

Angelus gave a dark chuckle, looking back at the beautiful dhampir over his shoulder.

“We were.”  He admitted.  “Fighting each other every moment of every night, taking what I could get while the soul wallowed in the gutter.  A messenger of sorts came to Angel and offered him a shot at absolution: he’s been watching over the Slayer ever since, the charge the messenger gave him, though no mention was made of falling in love with the twit.”  Angelus grimaced at that, Harry standing and walking over to him, running his hands up his arms and resting them on his shoulders as he leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“Then let him.”  He suggested.  “Let him do his _duty_.  Let him dance to fate’s tune.  If there’s one thing I know better than any other, it’s that Fate never is _kind_ to its heroes.  Don’t fight him.  Let him grow complacent and think you beaten.  Then we’ll strip him from you and set you _free_ , as you should have always been.”

With a growl of desire, Angelus whirled, snatching Harry up and pinning him back against the couch behind them, stealing his breath with a deep kiss even as he felt the soul start to rise.

Hissing once in dismay, knowing he was out of time if he wanted to see to any of his other business before Angel stole back Angelus’s body, he nipped once more at Harry’s lower lip then sped from the house, leaving him breathless and flushed against the leather upholstery of his library furniture.

“Oh yes.”  Harry laughed darkly, head tossed back as he reveled in the excitement coursing through his veins.  “Angelus was _just_ what the dhampir ordered to stave off boredom…”


	5. Darla

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been **

_“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”  
~Søren Kierkegaard_

**Chapter Four: Darla**

_November 9, 1996; Sunnydale, CA_

“Zachary didn’t return last night.”  Heinrich Nest, also known as the Master of the Order of Aurelius, commented from his throne as his most precious of progeny, the delightfully devious Darla entered his prison.

“Slayer.”  Darla hissed in accusation.

“Zachary was strong.”  The Master continued.  “To defeat the Slayer, we must be stronger still.  What news of the dhampir?”

“None, Master.”  Darla bowed her head in submission.  “None of the underlings have managed to track or trap him, he comes and goes without warning but hasn’t fed from our ranks since the Anointed One.”

“Yes, sweet Colin.”  The Master tsked.  “Such a shame.  So many of my children lost to the Slayer, now this dhampir feeds when and where he wills.  Something _must_ be done about it.”

“Please, Master.”  Darla begged.  “Let me kill the Slayer for you.”

“You have a _personal_ interest in her death.”  The Master observed.  “Her closeness to your forsaken progeny clouds your senses.  No.  I will send the Three for the Slayer.  _You_ will bring me the dhampir.  Should the Three fail, perhaps the dhampir might be amenable to an alliance, perverse creature that he was when he came to peer at me in my cage…”

“Yes, Master.”  Darla bowed.  “It shall be done as you command.”

And so it would.

After all, Darla had only disobeyed Heinrich _once_ in her unlife, a sin of omission – failing to seek his approval before creating her Angelus.

Angelus.

Ah, now _there_ was a demon unlike any other.

Pain was his _art_ , death and despair his canvas.

Heinrich _hated_ him.

Even still…he missed him.

Were Angelus still untainted by the human soul tarnishing him, Heinrich would never have been trapped, let alone left to languish.

Darla was his favorite.

Luke his first childe.

But Angelus…?

Angelus, now _there_ was a vampire worthy to be his heir.

Too bad that he’d been undone by his Sire’s foolishness, but then given Darla’s proclivities, many a male before and after him had been as well, in this Angelus was not unique.

She couldn’t help it anymore than she could help feeding.

It was her nature.

A nature that might cost her dearly someday, though Heinrich hoped it would be a long time away and long after he was nothing but dust.

…

“What did you say to him?”  Angel finally pinned down the dhampir at the library when the creature came to discuss the situation regarding the whelp and his possession by a hyena spirit – and his resulting assault of the Slayer.

“Nothing, yet.”  Harry arched a brow, amused.  Anymore it seems as if Angel doesn’t know if he wants to stalk him to ensure he wasn’t feeding freely on the “good” people of Sunnydale or return to running at the first sign of him.  Given that he’d hit a dead-end in his research – for the moment – while he waited on his demonic lawyers to contact him with the information he requested, he’d been more than willing to play an epic game of tag through Sunnydale, especially now that thanks to his blood-wards he’d fixed his little intruder problem.

Not that he hadn’t enjoyed Angelus’s idea of a wake-up call, but he’d rather _not_ wake up with another vampire leering at him anywhen soon.

“I’m watching to see how the whelp behaves before stepping in.”

“Not _him_ ,” Angel hissed in frustration, Giles watching them with rapt interest as Angel loomed in the doorway of his office where the two had been discussing the Xander issue.  “Angelus.  What did you say to Angelus?”

“What makes you think I said anything to him at all?”  Harry asked in turn, relaxing back into his chair, taking a close look at the _lights and clockwork_ as he’d put it to the vampire in question, of Angel/Angelus to see if any change had been made.  Sadly, it appeared not, or at least nothing significant enough to be visible to his eye.  “Unlike you lot my world doesn’t begin and end with your inner demon.  My agreement with Rupert stands: I haven’t gone poking at the tiger slumbering in your chest, Angel.”

“That _agreement_.”  Angel stressed, bracing his forearms against the wall on either side of the door, leaning into the small room.  “Wasn’t made until _after_ I awoke with the taste of you on my tongue.”  He gave a mirthless chuckle.  “Angelus gave it a good shot, I’ll admit.  But not even a bottle of Jameson and a pint of O+ can overwrite the taste of your power, dhampir.”

The agreement in question being the détente between Harry and the “Scoobies” regarding using Sunnydale as his hunting ground with two terms: no innocents and no poking at Angel’s inner demon.

Easy enough, considering that Harry preferred a hunt anyway and he’d already had his talk with Angelus.

He rather doubted they’d give a flying fuck about _him_ when Angelus was once more free to roam.

“Is this true, Harry?”  Giles asked, frowning at the eternally-young form of his fellow Englishman.

“Yes.”  Harry saw no point in dissembling.  “Angelus came to visit during the day after I drank the Anointed, likely not long after you lot discussed my dhampir status.  He was _intrigued_.”

That was an understatement, though so long as they were focused on Angelus’s interest in him as a dhampir the less likely they were to put together that it was his abilities with _magic_ that mattered to the demon.

And all that that implied.

“He’s been as tame as a kitten for the last _month_.”  Angel hissed, eyes narrowed.  It wasn’t just _blood_ he’d tasted after all, though he had zero intention of revealing _that_ to Giles who would run the information right to Buffy.  “ _What_ did you do?”

“I asked him how you came to be here, Angel.”  Harry cocked a brow at the brooding vampire.  Such a damn cliché.  Tortured creature of the night.  Blech.  Give him a happy and vicious vampire any day, at least they were _fun_.  “Then I told him the truth: fate will always have its way.  Fighting it is nothing more than a way to exhaust your resources.  And if a messenger promising absolution from the powers in charge of this dimension want you here to watch over Buffy, then fate is exactly what’s in play.”

More or less, anyway.

Angel was visibly taken aback by what Harry told him, a frown creasing his brow.

“And…he believed you?”

Harry gave a put-upon sigh, kicking out with one booted foot and pushing the empty chair away from Rupert’s desk in wordless offer.

At least the whelp and company weren’t around, though he knew anything he said around Rupert always ran the risk of being passed on to Buffy and through her or at the same time to her little sidekicks.

Pausing a moment as Angel took the wordless offer, Harry glanced into his eyes for a split second, eyes that flashed with a glint of gold.

Angelus was awake and listening.

Good.

That would save him from going over this twice.

“Angelus didn’t listen to me speak about _fate_ because it was in his own best interest.”  Harry began to spin his yarn, a healthy mixture of obfuscation, truth, and outright lies, impossible to parse through given their lack of ability to fact-check him.  “He listened because I’m a Fate-Null.”

“Fate-Null?”  Giles frowned, cleaning his glasses.

Harry nodded.

“I’ve fulfilled my fate.”  He explained.  “I walked the path spun for me and survived…after a fashion.  I was a powerful wizard once.  Able to do magics that would make any wicca or warlock in this world shake with awed envy to behold: and a prophecy given before I was born demanded my sacrifice, but only after a long trail of tests, trials, and tribulations.  So I did: I died.”

“But you didn’t stay dead.”  Angel assumed, given that Harry was sitting before him living and breathing, though a dhampir.

“No, I didn’t.”  Harry shook his head.  “Not that time, nor the next.  The first survival was due to a mixture of magics and circumstances and pure dumb luck I’m not going to explain – a lot of it wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway – but the second…”  He drawled, giving a crooked grin.  “The second left me a dhampir, an immortal being created to feast on power via blood, though I can survive on human food as well.  I don’t thirst as vampires do, I don’t fall to bloodlust.  But I’m not human anymore either.  I survived my fate, I beat it back, and becoming an immortal creature was my _reward_.”  He sneered at the word.  “Fate can’t be averted.  Not when it's actively being manipulated as in your case, Angel.  But it _can_ be worked to your advantage if you’re wise enough to strike at the opportune moment.”

“All the strengths of a vampire.”  Giles breathed, eyes wide as he processed what Harry said about his lack of thirst and ability to consume human food.  “None of the weaknesses.”

“That’s one way to put it.”  Harry tilted his head in agreement.  “Wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s what _is_.  And I stopped fighting the realities of a situation a long time ago.”

“So, he’s not tamed.”  Angel surmised.  “He’s just waiting.”

“Mmm.”  Harry shrugged.  “Maybe, maybe not.  Who can say they understand the mind of a demon?  Either way: he’s not exhausting you with his tantrums anymore, is he?  I’d take that as a win, personally, if I had your _particular_ brand of baggage to haul around.”

…

That night at the Bronze, whilst Buffy bemoaned her stagnant love life aside from a there one moment and gone the next Angel – who was a vampire besides – Harry grinned around a mouthful of one of the Three, shooting a wink at a flabbergasted Angel as he stood in the dust of the other two who had met their fates at the end of his Sword before he’d chosen to feast on the last one.

Let Angel stalk the Slayer for her own good.

Harry would for the inevitable meals that stalked in her shadow and the ongoing soap-opera that was the Buffy-and-Angel show.

Better than telly, honestly.

Though he could see how it was driving Angelus a bit barmy, given the fool of himself his hitchhiker was making of them over the petite blonde Slayer.

It had been a fight this time – one of the best he’d had since coming to Sunnydale – making the blood rush particularly spiced and rich as it poured over his tongue and across his fangs as Angel visibly swallowed.

Not that he’d been any help.

Wanker.

Left him to take on the trio, not that Harry was incapable, but a helping hand to an ally – not that Angel knew of Harry’s true preferences when it came to the driver of that built body – was only polite when he was fighting three-to-one against vampiric assassins.

The Three.

Someone was right hacked off, and it wasn’t at him since Harry was much more difficult to predict than, say, the Slayer.

“Oh great.”  Buffy said from the mouth of the alleyway, hands propped on her hips as she wrinkled her nose at him in disgust as he finished draining the assassin and he dusted.  “You again.”

“You could try showing some gratitude, Sunshine.”  Harry sneered at her, then rolled his eyes when Angel _finally_ got off his arse and jumped down to street-level.  “Since I doubt the Three were after me.”

“The Three?”  She arched an incredulous brow at the vampire-spawn.

“Vampire assassins in service to the Master.”  Angel enlightened her.  “Vicious and previously undefeated in battle even against Slayers.  Harry came across them as they moved to surround and watch the Bronze.”

“And of the three of us.”  Harry drawled.  “I’m the only one here who doesn’t spend an inordinate amount of time in that roach-infested box when I’m not out patrolling cemeteries, now am I?”

“ _Great_.”  Buffy groaned the word out this time, rolling her head on her shoulders.  “Regular vamp attacks aren’t enough now, they’re sending _assassins_ after me?”

“Price of notoriety, child.”  Harry shrugged.  “You took out a Master in Lothos, plus several high-level minions and childer of the Order of Aurelius and various other beasties.  If being the Slayer wasn’t enough your kill count certainly isn’t working in your favor when it comes to what creeps out at night.  Speaking of which…”  Harry arched a brow at the vampire.  “Angel?  Why don’t you be a good lad and escort the lady home in case the Three were only the first-line offensive?”

“Are you…”  Buffy frowned, honestly confused.  “Trying to _protect_ me?”

“Not me.”  Harry smirked, jerking his head towards tall-dark-and-brooding.  “Him.  I have better things to do with my eternity than Broody does.”

…

“I have Slayer breath.”

The aggravated words were the first things to greet Harry as he made it home later, the edges of dawn peeking up over the horizon but not reaching where Angelus was scowling at him from the depths of the veranda.

“ _Slayer_ breath.”  The Master Vampire growled, eyes shot with demonic gold as Harry physically unlocked the door to the mansion which dropped the wards over the door and allowed him and his guest inside.  “And the Soul had the audacity to complain about _your_ taste.”  He shuddered.  “I’ll never get artificial strawberry out of my nose.”

“You know I’m not going to volunteer to make you forget all about the horrible experience, right?”  Harry snorted a laugh as he rubbed at his forehead, weary from a night tracking some of the higher-ups of the Order.  There was definitely something in the works.  And it was more than sending the Three out to annoy the Slayer, even if Harry found them first.  “Your unlamented _other_ half made it rather clear that even taking steps to hide you’ve been with me he can sense it.”

“Mmm.”  Angelus crowded the luscious dhampir against the foyer wall, kicking the door shut behind them.  “He could _taste_ you.  That leaves us quite a bit of leeway, don’t you think?”

“Did you come over to complain about the results of your hands-off policy?”  Harry asked, no sign of his inner excitement at having Angelus hovering inches from him, surrounding him, showing save for the pulse at his neck.  “Or for something else?”

“Can’t it be both?”  Angelus asked with a wicked smirk and flashing eyes.

“Not really.”  Harry lifted one hand and braced it against Angelus’s breastbone, keeping the vampire from crowding him any further.  “Whatever this _plan_ fate has in the works, it involves your counterpart being _involved_ with the Slayer.  No sixteen-year-old girl is going to want to timeshare her boyfriend with his evil twin and his evil twin’s occasional shag.”

“Nothing occasional about you, beautiful.”  Angelus murmured seductively.  “I could spend years learning you, I think, and still be surprised.”

Years more breaking him, years beyond that trying to reshape him, and Angelus thought Harry Black would still resist, still be strong.

That story he’d told the Soul and the Watcher was a mixed bag, true, but there was real pain there.

Pain that spoke of the kind of turmoil Angelus could _attempt_ to create and never succeed.

That was the problem with some broken things.

They came back together far stronger and more beautiful than they’d been while whole, like his beautiful boy William in the end before Darla’s damn gift of a Kalderash girl had backfired so spectacularly.

His current state was as much his Sire’s fault as it was a result of his own nature and actions.

And like some he’d come across before and since, Harry Black would shatter completely to ashes and dust before he bent to the will of another.

Whether he would then _rise_ up, well.  That was a risk that Angelus – shockingly enough – found himself hesitant to take.  The more he got to know Harry Black, either in person or as an observer – so to speak – the less the idea of reshaping him appealed.

“My point stands.”  Harry told him sternly, pushing the vampire back.  “Consider it incentive whenever the Soul does something particularly stupid or the Slayer is painfully inane.  Until you’re fully yourself again, you can look all you want but you can’t touch or taste me.”

“Some incentive.”  Angelus leered, dragging his eyes from the tips of Harry’s boots up to the tips of his wild black hair.  “Look but don’t touch or taste?  Might as well be torture now that I know what I’m missing, lover.”

“Oh, the big bad Angelus can dish it out but can’t take it?”  Harry sassed, grinning as he raised his arms over his head in a long sensuous stretch that showed off every inch of his long lean body much to Angelus’s appreciation.

“I can take it.”  Angelus promised darkly, arching a brow.  “The question is whether you can deal with the result of my _restraint_ at the other end?”

Harry bit his lip around a grin.

“There’s only one way to find out, now isn’t there?”

“Truer words, pretty.”  Angelus chuckled, his lilt dancing out to play over the words.  “Be careful of Darla.”  He warned, feeling no loyalty to the bitch of a Sire that had ordered him away from his progeny among other _orders_ when he was weakened by the instatement of the curse that left him bound far worse than the Soul could manage alone.  He supposed even demonic essence – as Harry’d put it – couldn’t heal insanity brought on by being a syphilis-riddled whore who favored lead-tainted cosmetics prior to being changed.  “She’s a jealous thing and if Angel tasted you on me, _she_ might be able to sense me on you.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”  Harry smiled as Angelus whirled away into the shadows off to do whatever it was the vampire got up to when he managed to kick the traces for a few hours, moving to stand in the doorway to watch him as long as possible before he disappeared for however long this time.

“Do.”  Angelus reiterated.  “She’s the Master’s favored childe for a reason and for more than her ability to suck a cock.”

“You almost sound like you hate her.”

“Never that.”  Angelus looked back at the vision the dhampir made framed in the doorway.  “I gave up on hate a long time ago.  Exhausting and with no benefit to it in the end.”

…

The loss of the Three whirled the Master’s nest into a frenzy, more and more minions attempting to soothe his rage by taking out the Slayer in response, leaving Harry to divide his attention between the girl’s haunts as he waited for the other shoe to drop and a ring-side seat to the will-they won’t-they of Broody and Sunshine.

Gods.

Even before his final death, Harry had never enjoyed that sort of nonsense, hell, he hadn’t gone for it as a teenager himself, he could almost _hear_ the rumbling snarls that Angelus had to hold in over the mess.

Still, little miss Sunshine had her weaknesses, Slayer or not, and almost all of them were her human connections, the largest of which was the most overlooked when it came to proffered protections on hand: her mother.

It was as if, in Buffy World, because she kept her mother ignorant she would never be in danger or exposed.

Bullshit.

Hermione had learned that the hard way, when she’d obliviated the shit out of her parents to send them away from the danger of having a muggleborn daughter only to be unable to fix it later.

The immortality of teenagers.

Even _as_ a teenager Harry’d never understood it, being all too familiar with the concepts of death and loss to look at the world with the same sort of undying optimism that everything would magically work itself out in his favor.

So, when an irritating blonde bint in a mockery of schoolgirl’s outfit came sauntering down the street as Harry was waiting on the delightful – and he meant that – Mrs. Summers to arrive home from her work as a gallery curator, he was ready and waiting.

Though, as it turned out, _not_ for what he discovered in the end.

…

Harry waited for her to draw close before pouncing, only for the damned bitch to spin out of his path with a taunting laugh and speed away.

He did the only thing he could under the circumstances.

He gave chase.

Darla led him through alleyways and side-streets, cemeteries and church yards, always just out of reach, weaving an unpredictable pattern than had him cursing.

Angelus had warned him.

He should have listened.

It was this place, the _ease_ of life even with fights for his favored food.

It made him soft.

Worse – it made him cocky.

Harry knew better than most that appearances were deceiving and even Angelus had deigned to warn him about Darla’s cunning.

As he was forced to chase her hither and yon through Sunnydale, he’d say it was a lesson well-fucking-learned.

Don’t play with your food.

Seeing a familiar alleyway coming up with an opened door, Harry held in a groan.

She’d led him to the Bronze.

Because of fucking _course_ she had.

Still, trite choice of higher ground or not, it didn’t save her from being hit with a flying tackle that had her crashing into the stairwell, one hand holding her wrists over her head, the other her jaw as he used his sheer body weight to pin her down.

An elder vampire even if she’d never sought to become a Master, it took all of that and then some to pin her, but a _Sectumsempra_ to her hips at least _disconnected_ the majority of her leverage for her flailing.

Darla gave a high-pitched – and frankly irritating – giggle as a targeted _Incendio_ kept her from bleeding out before he was done with her.

“Oooh.”  Darla mocked, rolling her eyes.  “You think that _hurt?_   I taught Angelus all he _knows_.”

“I rather doubt that.”  Harry drawled with a smirk.  “Else he would’ve stayed crawled up your pussy the same as _you’ve_ stayed lodged up your darling Master’s arsehole.  Now.”  His fingers clamped tight on her jaw.  “Let’s see what you’ve got packed away in that brainpan, shall we?”

Locking their gazes, Harry went digging for all she knew about Angelus’s curse, the Master’s plans, and anything else of note.

Unfortunately for his plans, there was more to be found than he was prepared to handle.

Especially alone.

“Fucking crazy vicious bint.”  He cursed, voice soft and cold.  “I hope you enjoy hell.”  Sinking his fangs deep, he gulped down her blood.  He’d need it from what he’d seen but at this point it was banking power versus time.

The latter of which, for once, was _not_ in his favor.

Gathering one of his new powers, the first time he’d tried to use it on an elder vampire, Harry locked gazes with her once again.

“Release him.”  He commanded her once her eyes glazed with the distant expression he’d seen before on victims of the Imperious.  Dhampirs and some vampires had a version all their own.  Compulsion.  “Fully and completely.”

Darla hadn’t been content with keeping Angelus from his Childer once he’d gained a hitchhiker, oh no.

She had done so much _more_ than that.

Honestly, it made Harry worry about what Angelus would have been like if he’d ever been freed from his curse without being freed from his Sire’s commands, as unlike one would think, a Sire’s commands stayed until lifted, unbreakable even unto death.

“Blood of my blood.”  Darla gasped out, blood hemorrhaging from the deep wounds in her neck.

Harry hadn’t been gentle or tidy about it.

Not with this one.

“I release thee: Angelus of Aurelius, from all commands and orders ever given by thine Sire.”

“Good girl.”  Harry smiled coldly, then reached into her gaping wounds and _rent_ snapping her spine and tearing her neck from her shoulders with a roar, leaving her to dust beneath him and his leathers coated in her blood.  Not that it would matter.  Thanks to Darla’s idea of a _plan_ , he was certain to be covered in more before the night was over.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his simple flip-phone, fingers hitting the speed dial from memory as he sprinted farther into the teenaged hangout.

Darla had had a plan after all.

She’s simply underestimated him as he’d done her.

In his case, however, his miscalculation wouldn’t be lethal – for him at least.

For the bait in Darla’s little trap…that might be a different story.

“Giles.”  Harry bit out as he leapt up the stairs to the stage where the bait was tied up and bleeding from the bites on their necks.  No wonder Darla had bled so much even after he’d drank her down.  She’d been flush from snacking on her pawns.  “I need you at the Bronze.  Darla snatched your Slayer’s Mum.”

Snapping the phone closed to cut the call and tossing it aside, he knelt in the puddle of blood between the two bodies: one of Joyce Summers and the other whatever unlucky sap had gotten in Darla’s way when she’d been moving her into position.

It wasn’t a bad plan, he had to admit, especially if she’d managed to snag the Slayer in it.

Sunshine would’ve been too worried for her mum to be fully focused on Darla, even if it was just as likely to spark her formidable temper and make her that much harder to kill while on Harry’s part he would’ve done just as he had: killed her and gotten on with it, though it would’ve cost him forcing her to release her lone childe.

He’d caught her before he knew there were lives at stake.

Even so, he’d had to make a choice.

And he’d levied the damage an insane Angelus could do versus two civilians and made it.

Better a sane, if vicious sadist of a vampire than an insane one.

Somehow, however, he felt that if Joyce didn’t pull through the Slayer wasn’t going to see it the same way.

He didn’t bother with a _Tergeo_ for the blood.

Giles was going to have to take her to the hospital anyway.

Him…he was too far gone to care either way.

A hospital couldn’t help him now as he slowly bled his life away onto the dirty stage floor in the empty nightclub, closed for its weekly night off.

For Joyce, he couldn’t do shit for her blood loss, but an _Episkey_ closed the wounds on her neck and wrists, save for one he left as an explanatory wound: a long scratch on her collarbone that was deep but with pressure the bleeding slowed significantly as Harry kept his gaze locked on the young form that was dying a little more second by second as he waited, and waited, and waited for the cavalry to arrive.

Harry could leave.

Apparate away with Joyce to the hospital.

But as he stared at the pair of tattoos on the bared arms of the young man, easily seen around the wounds on him that he’d likewise hit with an _Episkey_ , leaving faint pink lines in their place, he couldn’t make himself do it.

So much for being beyond the reach of his patron, he thought semi-hysterically.

It wasn’t every day, after all, that he saw his own sigils picked out in emerald ink on ivory skin: an ouroboros on one lean arm and the sigil of the Master of Death on the other.

…

After a terse call from Harry to his home phone, Giles didn’t know what to expect after calling Buffy to run to the Bronze to meet them, the Watcher arriving in his car at the same time as the pair of Slayer and her vampiric shadow.

Surprise surprise.

However, he could safely say that passing through the dust of a dead vampire to the sight of Harry kneeling and keeping pressure on a wounded Joyce was _not_ it.

“My god.”  Giles rushed to his side, easily beaten by the superpowered pair of Buffy and Angel.  “Harry, what’s happened?”

“Darla.”  Harry bit out, even as he snatched Buffy’s hand in his own and pressed it to Joyce’s wound – it looked as if he’d covered it with his own shirt given his half-naked state.  “Don’t know if the trap was meant for me or the Slayer but it worked either way, if not to Darla’s benefit.  Here.”  Harry finished placing Buffy’s hands then motioned for Angel to come kneel in his place opposite her.  “Angel’s going to lift her, Buffy you’re going to move with him every step out to Giles’s car.  Keep pressure on the wound and your Watcher will get you to A&E, yeah?”

Giles nodded, feelings rather useless as the pair – for once – did exactly as told, though a dark glance from Angel made it clear the subject was in no way finished.

“And the other…?”

Harry shook his head, walking over to pick up the form of the limp young man.

“No hospital can help him now.”

“Giles, c’mon, let’s go!”  Buffy shouted as she and Angel loped with an easy cadence through the dark nightclub, her Watcher darting after her, though that vision won’t leave his mind for a long time.

That of a young-faced dhampir picking up a broken body as easily as Giles would a piece of paper, but with all the care of a mother cradling a newborn child.

A comparison, though he didn’t know it, that was more appropriate than he could know in that moment.

…

_“Tergeo, tergeo._ ”  Harry whispered, banishing all of the blood and dust from the nightclub.  He knew what could be done with blood.  He had no intention of ever learning what could be done with the remains of a vampire.

Then with one last look, holding the growing-colder form to his chest, Harry spun on his heel and vanished with a soft _pop_.

It was a victory.

Darla was dead, the Master’s plans foiled for a time, even Mrs. Summers had been saved.

But somehow…it really didn’t feel like one regardless.

…


	6. Blood of my Blood

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been! **

**Chapter Five: Blood of My Blood**

Harry arrived at his destination, precious cargo intact, and laid the dying body down on the soft mattress in the below-ground basement bedroom.

He didn’t need to be wary of sunlight, but given, well, _Angelus_ let alone the rest of the vampires that inhabited Sunnydale, he’d wanted to be prepared…which was why along with underground bedrooms he had a few underground prison cells as well.

Just in case, mind.

At least now, just in case was going to come in handy.

Lifting pallid eyes lids to check the boy’s pupil response, Harry next lowered his cheek to rest just above pale pink lips, waiting for several long moments until he felt the faintest of puffs of breath.

Good.

He wasn’t gone yet.

Though given the slow, feeble pulse to be found in an ivory neck, he didn’t have much time.

Locking his gaze with eyes a brilliant hazel that were green one moment then gold the next in the shifting light as Harry turned his head, he repeated his actions from earlier in the night, only instead of scanning the boy’s thoughts, he projected himself into them.

He knew what he wanted to do.

What his instincts were _screaming_ at him to do.

But set-up by his patron or not, Harry wouldn’t – couldn’t – make this choice for the boy, no matter what had been done to him and countless others like them who’d been changed against their will.

How close to the edge Harry was dancing became self-evident when his mental projection found him standing in the dark, summoning a faint red light as he stared down at an echo of the still form laying on his guestroom bed.

In this boy’s mind, he was still laid out on the wooden stage at the Bronze, changeable eyes wide and pupil-shot, pupil swallowing darkened irises.

“Am I dead?”  Came the question, the voice deeper than Harry would have expected given the young and pretty features of the teenager.

“No, not yet.”  Harry answered.

“I am dying though.”  A head full of chestnut curls nodded.  “I figured after…”

“Not if you don’t want to.”  Harry told him, making those expressive eyes blink.  “If there was a way for you to live, even though it came with side-effects, would you want to?”

“Will I be a vegetable?”

“No.”

“Will I be…like _her_?”  The boy looked fearfully over his shoulder, likely towards a specter of Darla that Harry couldn’t see.  After all, he was just visiting.  This wasn’t his mind.

“No.”  Harry told him firmly.  “You won’t be evil, but you will be changed.”

“I’m only twenty years old.”  The boy – well, young man Harry supposed, though he looked a bit younger than that.  “I don’t want to die…whoever you are.”

“I can’t promise you won’t die.”  Harry said honestly, pain etched into his face plain to see.  “But I _can_ promise that you’ll live.”

“Fair enough.”  The boy shrugged.  “How will this work?”

“You don’t have to do a thing.”  Harry promised.  “I’ll take care of anything.  I’ll you’ll have to do is wake up.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“I think you can too.”

…

Harry quickly backed out of the young man’s mind, moving with his supernatural speed now that he’d gotten consent.

Not fully informed consent…but consent nonetheless.

He was out of time.

Dropping fang, he bit into the feeble and slowing-every-second pulse at his new childe’s neck, gulping down just enough of the little-remaining blood to be a true exchange, then tore into his own wrist, pressing it to the boy’s lips after opening his mouth with his free hand, then massaging his neck to force him to swallow mouthful after mouthful.

As much as he could spare.

His first change wasn’t to be a minion after all, not with those sigils on his arms – and believe him, he was going to find out the truth behind _that_ shocker when his childe was changed and awoken – but his childe.

Dhampir could change humans if they liked.

Only that didn’t create dhampir, no.

Dhampir were only created under very specific circumstances and Harry wasn’t capable of recreating them, nor could he bend the rules the way Death had done for him.  His magic was amplified on the Hellmouth, but not _that_ much.  Death’s idea of “enough” information to survive his first month was rather more than most would need.  Which was probably rather the point.  Death _did_ , from what Harry could tell, enjoy slipping a card from the bottom of the deck.

Inserting a powerful wizarding into a world with a lack of them was probably just the sort of thing the primordial would enjoy.

Dhampir _could_ , even without Harry’s magic, create vampires.

Blood magic was blood magic, and while his childe wouldn’t be the fucked-up version of vampire that ran around this world, he would be similar to one from _his_ original world, the species that his vampire-half of his dhampir was connected to, that it drew power from and rested, just waiting, in the depths of Harry’s chest like a prowling beast directing him towards the plumpest prey, the finest feeds.

And now, directed him through creating his first childe.

Harry forced as much blood as he could into his new charge, until he took his last breath and could drink no more, then cleaned him up, finding a wallet still tucked in the back pocket of his jeans and putting a name to the pretty face.

Jamis Grant, “Jamie” according to all of the non-official identification he found just as a loyalty card from a coffee shop, his food handler’s card, and his library card for the Sunnydale Public Library, whilst his driver’s license and student ID – Jamie apparently attended UC Sunnydale – had his legal name.

Jamie was, as his mental construct had said, twenty years old.

He had a handful of different cards in his wallet, two guitar picks, no pictures, and about twenty dollars cash in small bills.

That was the sum total of information he knew about his new childe, aside from that when he’d seen Darla bringing in a knocked-out Joyce to the Bronze – why he’d been there Harry still wasn’t sure but thought he worked there maybe – he’d run towards the danger instead of away.

And he was marked for Harry…though how still boggled the mind.

Tradition would say that Harry should shove Jamie in a coffin and let him “rise”.

Tradition could go bugger itself up, down, and sideways.

Underground was required, yes.

Crawling out of his own grave, not so much aside from psychological warfare.

Once Jamie was clean and dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms Harry had fetched from his bedroom, he tucked him beneath the fluffy white down comforter and killed the lights before speeding through his own shower and throwing on a pair of bottoms for himself then curling up around his new childe.

Some demons might abandon their childer, but Harry _wasn’t_ a demon.

Not fully.

He could set the bond between them and wind it so tight Jamie would end up the most loyal childe ever produced in this gods-forsaken dimension.

Jamie wanted to live.

Harry would make it so.

…

“Angel.”  Giles said, looking relieved to see the ensouled vampire arrive in his library – a first, it had to be said given that upon learning of Angel’s species he’d delved into the Watcher Journals for anything regarding the Master Vampire.  And what he’d found was more than enough to make him wary of the creature.

“Giles.”  Angel nodded in greeting, eyes casting quickly over the worried faces of his Slayer and the Scoobies.  “What’s going on?”

The last few days had been…challenging to say the least.

He didn’t know what happened or why, but Angelus had been in turns screaming insane and suspiciously docile.

Easy money said it had to do with Harry…and his killing their Sire.

Angel didn’t know how to feel about that.

Yes, she was the demon who created his evil self.

She’d been a danger to every living thing but perhaps especially to Buffy.

He should be _glad_ she was dusted.

Considering that one of her last acts had been to nearly drain Buffy’s mother to death, part of him was.

The rest of him was much more conflicted.

That he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Harry around since didn’t help with the problem.

Something which, for once, it seemed Angelus agreed with.

Both of them wanted to see him, talk to him, though Angel would bank on it being for vastly differing reasons.

“It’s Harry.”  Giles explained, Buffy simply chewing on her bottom lip while her little friends watched, worried.  They hadn’t been involved the other night, but with Joyce in the hospital, Buffy had been staying over at Willow’s house until she was recovered enough to go home.  “We haven’t seen or heard from him in several days.”

“That’s not unusual, Giles.”  Angel arched a brow, even as Angelus stilled and perked up, paying rapt attention.  “He often disappears for a few days or even a week or two at a time.”

“He’s not the only one.”  Buffy muttered with a near pout, distracted for a moment from the issue at hand before her Watcher got them back on track.

“No, it’s not.”  Giles had to agree, polishing his glasses before setting them back in place on his nose.  “However, there also has been no obituary posted for the unfortunate young man who we were unable to save.  Nor is he listed as a missing person.”

“It’s as if he never was attacked.”  Willow piped up.  “The bartender at the Bronze says that he called out sick, guess he was part waiter and part stand-in when bands were down a player.”

“Oh.”  Angel rubbed at his forehead in a very-human gesture as Angelus huffed a little laugh.  Yeah.  They’d twigged it, given how something Harry had said and he was certain Giles had overlooked and how drained Joyce was at the Bronze.  Whether the others had figured it out…that wasn’t as certain.  “And Harry didn’t do his disappearing trick and take him to a hospital?”

“Not that we can find, no.”  Giles sighed.  “According to what we’ve found, we’ve a case of one Jamie Grant, college student, who has called out sick from work but also hasn’t been seen at his dorm in several days.”

“How long, exactly?”  Angel prompted.  He’d been out of it to say the least, feeling more _off_ than normal since Darla’s death.  And in this case he couldn’t even blame it – fully – on Angelus.

“Three days.”

“Ah.”

“You say that like you know something.”  Buffy clicked it.  “Do you know something?”

“Harry is a dhampir.”  Angel pointed out the obvious.

“And…?”  Xander prompted with an eye roll.  “He’s vampire-lite, we’ve gotten the memo.”

“No.”  Angel snorted, exasperated – and for once in sync with his inner demon.  “He’s a dhampir.  A totally different – if sharing similarities – species.  Want to take a guess on what one of those similarities is?”

Giles sucked in a shocked breath, rapidly lowering himself into a nearby chair.

“Oh, good heavens.”  He blinked.  “Do you mean…?”

“He can Sire?”  Angel arched a brow.  “Yes.”  Then he corrected.  “At least, that’s what the lore says.  I’ve never met one myself and Harry and I don’t exactly have heart-to-hearts so I can’t say for certain.  You said it yourself: all of the strengths, none of the weaknesses.”

“But yes.”  Buffy concluded.  “Since he’s done stuff to make it that Jamie has a life to go back to, we’re going with yes.”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”  Giles muttered.  “Angel, I don’t suppose…?”

“I have his address.”  He answered the implied question.  “But given how tightly warded it is I don’t know how much good it will do you.”  He clarified at the frowns that got him from the others, all of them well aware by now of Angelus’s little _visit_ to Sunnydale’s resident dhampir.  “He warded it afterward, probably in response to having a vampire come by for a chat, invited or not.”

“Because he wasn’t invited in.”  Willow perked up.  “Right?  Just to come by sometime.  It’s not the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”  Angel nodded with a slight smile for the quick-witted redhead.  “There’s an intent behind the invitation that works with the blood-magic that helps create vampires.  For instance you wouldn’t have to invite in a vampire if you literally _carried_ them inside: the magic would read the intent.”

“It should be noted.”  Giles added.  “That an invitation issued under duress still is read as having intent, even if that intent is only to relieve the cause of the duress, it would still fulfill the requirement.”

“Gotcha.”  Buffy nodded.  “No inviting in vampires.  Check.”

“So, what?”  Xander scoffed.  “We just wait for vampire-spawn to show up with _his_ spawn?”  He frowned then brightened.  “Can we stake his spawn?  It’s not exactly covered under the agreement.”

“As he wasn’t the one to fatally injure Mr. Grant.”  Giles sighed, shaking his head.  “Mr. Black is still within the spirit of the agreement if not the complete letter of it.  I should think so long as his childe is no threat to the public that he should be left alone unless we wish to provoke Mr. Black.”

“Considering how effective he is at taking out vampires and riling up the Master.”  Angel smirked.  “We might want to avoid that.  If Black turns this boy as a true childe and not just a minion his reaction to his death would be enough to give even the Master pause from what I’ve seen of his capabilities.”

“Yes.  Quite.”

…

“I swear.”  Harry hissed to himself, eyes narrowed at the audio receiver he’d brought down with him that first night when he’d ventured from bonding with his childe to feed and take care of other necessities, falling into a trance for hours at a time as his childe transitions from human to vampire but never leaving his hold thereafter.  “It’s like Harris _wants_ me to kick his arse…”

Threatening his childe.

Harry wasn’t evil, not in the sense of slaughtering droves of innocents and ending the world, but he wasn’t _good_ either and if that little whelp kept pushing his buttons he’d introduce him, up close and personal, to the world of pain that dwelled between the two extremes.

He was tired.

Had been since long before he’d died and been remade into a dhampir.

The constant struggle between his own brands of light and dark – natural and indoctrinated – let alone the constant external struggle between the two forces had drained him long before that last spell took his life.

His rebirth had given him a new zest and interest in life, bringing with it a new world and new challenges, but it was the ignorance of these utter _children_ who’d once more been tagged with protecting the world that reminded him of all that had come before and all the reasons he’d been pissed that Death had smudged the lines a little with their deal.

Why was it always children?

Worse, in this case, why was it children without a decent grasp of ethics?

Harry’d never had much to go on, had learned his – former – sense of ethics and morals more by osmosis than anything else what with going through puberty in the midst of a blood-war, but it was something he’d been told by Sirius that had stuck with him more than anything else and had given him a bad taste in his mouth the more he listened to Rupert and his teenage headaches.

We’ve all got light and dark inside of us.  What _matters_ is what we choose to act on.

Harry might walk a fine line between the shadows and true darkness these days, but at least he had enough of a grasp on himself to _realize_ the line he walked and keep himself centered lest he tipple over the edge of no return.

From all he could see, what these runts were choosing to do, to act on was slaughter thanks to the shallow view of the world they’d taken on, spoon-fed by the Watcher Council’s policies.

Human: good.

Other: bad.

Wankers.

His Jamie was innocent of everything but being in the wrong damn place at the worst fucking time, and _that whelp_ talked of killing him as easily as Harry would swatting a fly.

Even _Harry_ , who was now a creature that fed off of power, treated the lives he took with more respect than that, choosing who to kill by their power yes – but by their _darkness_ not their light, otherwise he’d have drained the Slayer the first day he arrived as her light glowed almost as brightly as the unlamented Mayor’s darkness had drawn him through the sheer absence of good in his aura.

Thankfully for Harris’s chances of continued survival, a whimper came from Jamie as Harry felt the sun begin to descend.

It was almost time for his childe to rise.

Reaching over to the mini-fridge he’d stationed within arm’s reach of the bed where he’d remained either sleeping or in a meditative trance while his childe transitioned, occasionally feeding Jamie throughout the last three days and nights, opening the door and calling to hand a trio of the last blood bags he’d stocked to see him through Jamie’s transition as he fed from Harry, which as a childe he would continue to due for some time, gulping down the cold and unappetizing fluid.  White bread Human.  Not Harry’s preference but it wasn’t as if there existed a blood bank exclusively stocked by magic users in this dimension to cater to his preferences while hunting was problematic.  At first Jamie would be solely feeding from his Sire, before being weaned from Harry’s powerful blood to other in time.  Harry pondered taking a vacation to help Jamie through the transition away from stake-happy teenagers.

There were some wankers in Mother England that were brainwashing young girls and turning them into remorseless killers that he thought would make _excellent_ targets for teaching his childe how to hunt.

And some idiotic magic practitioners in Romania whose minds he’d like to pick regarding their bastardized version of soul magics.

It wasn’t like there was all that much for Harry to do in Sunnydale at the moment anyway, not until Nest got closer to breaking the spell that binds him, and if these things were _anything_ like the ways of magic back in his original world, the next best bet on _that_ wasn’t until either the Winter Solstice or failing that Beltane.

Perhaps he could Compel the registrar at Sunnydale High before he left to stick the little pack of Scoobies into an ethics class next semester – granted they lived that long with their tendency to run head-long into trouble.

Harry remembered being that unlucky.

He didn’t remember being nearly as irritating though he was sure Snape would disagree.

Jamie’s whimpers picked up in frequency then his heart gave one last final thunderous beat before falling silent forevermore and his hazel eyes snapped open, the newborn vampire sitting up in a rush as his senses were bombarded by an intensity of sound and smell and sight and taste that were overwhelming to say the least, Harry tossing the empty blood bags off the bedspread lest they be the first thing – with Harry’s luck – that his childe saw.

The sound Harry made in response to his childe’s distress could only be described as a purr, coming from deep in his chest and rumbling out, startling in its instinctive force.

It worked however, Jamie closing his eyes and slumping a bit as Harry turned and enclosed him in the tender prison of his arms and legs, deep rumbles continuing to soothe and reassure his fledgling as he moved with slow, gentle hands and lightly tugged Jamie’s head down to rest on the curve of his shoulder, whimpers slowing and eventually tapering away after uncountable moments of the pair being intertwined.

A process helped along in massive bounds by Harry finding the new bond within him and pushing calming thoughts and sensations through it to his childe.

“I know it’s distressing, childe.”  Harry spoke once the shudders had fully calmed and Jamie had fallen into a sort of trance listening to the rumbles coming from his Sire’s chest.  The control a Sire could have over their childe could not be overstated and was largely determined in the first moments of a fledge’s rising.  It can create anything from a mindless drone to a Master vampire, set the fate of their future in a moment’s time between the care taken in the turning and that of the first moments of rising.  Harry being who he was, he was setting Jamie on one that would make him as much an equal as Harry could have outside of an actual Mating claim.  Vampires could rise above the pattern set by their rising, but a Sire that gave a damn wouldn’t condemn them to the hard road…the problem being that most vampiric Sires didn’t give even half a damn for their childer outside of the old lines from what Harry’s research has shown.  “What is one thing – just one – that you can see?”

“White blanket.”

“What’s two things you can smell?”

Jamie drew in a breath.

“Copper and salt.”

“What’s three things you can hear?”

“Heartbeat.”  Jamie answered at once, not needing a moment or two like he had with the sight and scent.  “Purring, your voice.”

“Good, Jamie, that’s good.”  Harry kept up the rumble in his chest, though he had to concentrate to split his focus to talk and make the sound at the same time, his voice mostly a purr itself – if very different – as a result.  “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?”

“Your voice.”  Jamie lifted his head, staring up into the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen.  “It was dark and cold and _she_ was there, that monster.  What happened to me?”

“You were used.”  Harry told him, not pulling punches but keeping his tone as gentle as possible.  “Wrong place, worse timing.”  He tilted his head with a sigh, then shook his head.

“Is the, the woman okay?”  Jamie asked, frowning as he tried to wade through his foggy mind.  “I think there was a woman…”

“There was, and she is.”  Harry told him.  “The memory issues will clear over the next couple weeks, it’s to help you acclimate to how things are now.  To keep you from focusing on the before instead of dealing with the now.”

This dimension’s amalgamated vampires didn’t have such a thing, which was a shame as Harry’s _Compendium_ had more than one tale of a freshly demonized and brainwashed vampire slaughtering their original family as a twisted rite of passage, one that was actively practiced in the Order of Aurelius more than anywhere else, though in the case of Drusilla her family had been tore apart by Angelus prior to her turning and with William the Bloody…well.  No one quite knew his origins.  Only that William the Blood was his first name as a vampire and Spike acquired sometime in the decade after his rising.

“What am I now?”  Jamie asked, mouth dry and teeth aching.  His senses were still going crazy, though he recognized what the man holding him had done earlier as a grounding technique.  The teeth thing now…that was definitely new.

“Do you want the practical or fantastical answer?”

“Ah…”  Jamie gave a little chuckle, somehow not ill at ease, not in the least, by being held by this man, wearing pajamas he knew weren’t his own, in a place he didn’t know.  Somehow…he felt that as long as the other was here, everything would be okay.  “Both?”

“The practical answer is that you’re now the product of a transition from human to supernatural creature with specific dietary restrictions and accompanying allergies.”  Harry told him with the same no-nonsense but kind tone he’d been using all along.  “The fantastical answer is that you’re my vampiric childe, the result of a blood-magic ritual performed in the last moments before your death at the hands of a Hellbitch.”

Which, really, was the nicest thing he could think of to call Angelus’s unlamented – even by him from the little he’d picked up through his spying – Sire.

“Oh.”  Jamie answered, voice faint.  “Ok.”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head and everything went black, leaving his Sire to in turns cluck and chuckle over his faint.

…

Harry held in another chuckle at Jamie’s reaction, knowing that unconsciousness – involuntary or otherwise – was a better reaction that disbelief or screaming panic, though it wasn’t too late for either of those either.

They tried the conversation route once more when Jamie awoke for again, this time uninterrupted by aught save his childe’s hunger, the manner of appeasing it – along with the first descent of his new fangs – doing more than any mere _words_ or mystical connection to both convince and soothe Jamie as thanks to Harry’s constant force-feeding of his blood during the last few days Jamie was neither ravenous nor out of his mind with bloodlust.

All Harry had to do was allow his own fangs to drop and pierce his forearm for Jamie’s lingering disbelief to vanish as his fledge’s fangs echoed his own action and he – tentatively but with growing confidence as his lashes fluttered in ecstasy at the taste and power of _Sire blood_ rolling over his tongue – adjusted.

That had to be one of Harry’s favorite things about people raised outside of his original universe and Wizarding Great Britain – their ability to adapt.

It was one he shared with them, something which had always set him apart.

At least now he was surrounded by those could wouldn’t look at him askance because of his ability to roll with the punches.

It was one of those traits he saw in that irritating bint of a teenaged supergirl that kept him from biting her out of sheer frustration – she took her knocks and came back up swinging every single blasted time from all he’d seen.

One thing that _should_ bother an American young adult – having little to no autonomy – was taken care of by the bond between Sire and Childe.  Jamie no more _wanted_ Harry to go away than Harry would allow himself to be more than arm’s reach away.  His childe managed a shower with the curtain open and Harry sitting with his back to him on the edge of the tub, not bothered in the slightest at needing to switch out his bottoms afterward with the back of them soaked through and dripping down his thighs.

Some species of both vampires and dhampirs were inherently sexual with their progeny.

Whether by the nature of himself or his species, Harry didn’t feel a pull in that way to Jamie, though a few shy glances at his tight muscles shown in his shirtless state from under inky lashes were ego-boosting nonetheless.

There was no lascivious appreciation in the glances either, telling Harry that Jamie’s pull to him also wasn’t sexual and thankfully for his childe Harry wasn’t the sort that would have pushed him even if he _was_ attracted to Jamie in that way.  Not that Jamie wasn’t attractive.  Far from it.  But his pesky ethics would never allow it so long as Jamie was so closely tied to him by their bond and dependent on him, even if he didn’t have a big bastard – in just about every way except the literal – of an Irish demon who’d be _less than pleased_ at Harry dallying with his fledge on one hand and pushing him away with the other.

Given Angelus’s reputation, that was _one_ cage Harry wasn’t planning to ever rattle if he could help it.

Seething sadistic semi-impotent (as a vampire…not…not that _other_ way as Harry knew very-fucking-well) vampire was bad enough.

Adding jealousy and possessiveness to _that_ cocktail somehow struck him as a _horrible fucking idea._

Let’s _not_ poke the vastly dangerous demon with a cattle prod, thanks.

Harry lightly stroked Jamie’s hair with his free hand as his childe nursed at his arm, Harry occasionally fisting and unfisting his hand to help keep the blood flowing even with Jamie’s elegant fangs piercing his flesh.

He may not be flush with his _favored_ food source; but he hadn’t done any magic since turning Jamie either, giving him some leeway, especially since Harry regenerated his natural magics at a fast clip thanks to the Hellmouth.  It was his _Light_ magics that he had to replenish the hard way through feeding.  Given that turning a childe was blood magic, it actually took quite a bit less out of him than he’d anticipated.  However, since some vampires in his current world turned minions right-left-and-center he wasn’t terribly surprised as lack of energy and strength would have put a stop to that bullshit if nothing else were it a truly draining or strenuous experience, even with the time, power, and blood Harry had devoted to Jamie’s turning.

Voice pitched low and soothing, though no longer rumbling with a purr given Jamie’s calmed state, Harry explained a few things while he had Jamie’s utter focus once he’d felt through their bond that the first blood-red haze of feeding had passed leaving Jamie to enjoy the experience and capable of _hearing_ him over the roar of blood and power rushing into him.

“I’ve taken care of things for you so you can step back into your life if you choose.”  Harry told him, continuously running his fingers through Jamie’s short-cropped curls.  “You officially called out sick from your work at the Bronze and your classes at school.  However, I would prefer it if we made arrangements for UC Sunnydale to believe you suffered a family emergency and need to take an incomplete on your classes for this semester and perhaps the next as well.”  Harry hushed him even Jamie made a noise of surprised complaint as fuzzy or not that struck him as a problem – though he never lifted his fangs from his slow pulls on Harry’s arm, more analogous to a suckling babe than a ravenous fiend.  “You need to learn control, my childe.  Now and for the next weeks you won’t crave anyone or anything but me as your body needs my blood and inherent magics as your Sire to transition to your new state.  But in time that draw will fade, and you will have to be able to resist temptation to hunt and feed on your classmates if you wish to return to your schooling.  As your Sire, there is no need for you ever to work if you do not choose to until you’ve reached a certain age as a vampire or ever at all if that is your wish.  It is my honor and my pride to provide for you and teach you – being a vampire is more than fangs and blood and stories whispered and shouted alike by popular culture.  It will take more time than a few weeks to teach you all you need to know, my childe.”

Slowly pulling off of his Sire’s arm, a title that came as easily to his mind if not more so than Harry’s name, Jamie lapped lightly at the puncture wounds until they closed.

That was _so cool_.

His senses were amped up – he had a feeling eventually that would be awesome – but at the moment they were just overwhelming.

Everything was overwhelming.

Everything but his Sire.

His Sire was his anchor and his support beam and his lifejacket all at once: father, brother, friend and more that he could explain, didn’t have words for, but knew down to the last bit of him was there.

Jamie’s mind said: blood drinking – eww.

His instincts and that bond with his Sire said: blood drinking – right.

And honestly…more than delicious.

It was…everything.

Feeding from his Sire right now was everything, or perhaps more accurately, his _Sire_ was everything.

He could see how it would take him time to acclimate, to be able to be away from Harry.

Even the shower and having Harry _right there_ hadn’t been enough.

Snuggling back into Harry’s arms, he knew something about what his Sire was saying was important for him, something made him want to balk, but he couldn’t pinpoint it with the fog his Sire promised would lift in him.

“Whatever you think is best.”  He said after a long moment, realizing that his Sire was waiting for him to speak.  “I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Yes.”  Harry whispered, pressing an affectionate kiss to Jamie’s hair.

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t realized until Jamie woke and _needed_ him utterly, had no _idea_ just how _lonely_ and touch-starved he’d grown without Teddy to look after and need him.

When was the last time someone, _anyone_ , either than Angelus or an opponent in battle had laid hands on him?

When was the last time _he_ willingly touched or spent time with anyone other than his prey and Rupert?

Harry honestly couldn’t recall when or who, though he thought Death might have patted him on the back or clasped him on the shoulder or something.

He’d been in his new life for months and could think of exactly _once_ he’d been close to another being other than prey and Angelus’s touch had only lasted a half-hour at best and was weeks ago.

“Yes, my childe.”  Harry swore, arms wrapping around him as he used a flex of his magic to tuck them back in, the fledgling exhausted from his first waking.  “Yes, I _will_ take care of you.  For as long as you wish, even forever if need be: you have my word, I will never abandon my place with you nor yours with me, blood of my blood.  So long as you desire it, you have a place at my side and in my home.

 


	7. Lessons Abound

** You Don’t Know Where He’s Been **

**Chapter Six: Lessons Abound**

_Looking around the dreamscape, Harry let out a loud, heartfelt groan._

_“I thought you said I would be out of your reach?”  He bitched to the ether surrounding him in endless shades of grey and shadow._

_He knew this feeling._

_He rather thought he always_ would _given that it revolved around two rather large events in his life._

_Or perhaps, it would be more accurate to say – his Death._

_“_ You _might be out of reach for direct manipulation.”  The nondescript form of the primordial being of Death stepped from the shadows in front of him with a chuckle.  “I never said your new home would be.”_

_Harry groaned once more, feeling quite put-upon even as he appreciated the slight-of-hand._

_“Tricky tricky.”  He clucked his tongue even as with a thought he shifted the grey nothingness and shadows with their deathly chill into his library with a roaring fire, waving towards one of the arm chairs in wordless invitation.  Death may have pulled him into a dreamscape once he slept, but it was still_ Harry’s _dream.  He could control it if he sought to do so.  “Given that you’re being tricky, I’m assuming Jamie’s tats aren’t a fluke and you want something?  Something that you sent me to this new life to accomplish, maybe?”_

_“Oh no.”  Death chuckled waving one thin hand with a heavy ring on his middle finger in dismissal, setting aside his cane as he lowered himself with a sigh into the plush chair, Harry gliding into his own with the new preternatural grace his dhampir state has transmuted from Harry’s natural athleticism.  “You’ve no tasks to complete or hoops to jump through, my son.  When I said you’ll be free to live your life as you choose I_ meant _it.  That doesn’t mean, however, that I’ll refrain from dropping…_ hints _, now and again when I see things with a possibility to spiral into a direction that would cause you serious harm.  The universe you’ve taken up residence in_ is _a dangerous one.  I didn’t go through the trouble of making you immortal just to lose you once more because a half-breed vampire decided to get_ cute _.”_

_“Jamie then?”_

_Death sighed then gave into those bright emerald eyes._

_“You needed a childe, a true_ childe _, before you walk down a certain path, elsewise things go more than a bit sideways with your current course.  So, when the opportunity arose…”_

_“You dropped a hint.”  Harry sighed himself, shaking his head.  “And left it up to me what I’d do with it.”_

_“Yes, exactly.”  His patron nodded.  “That’s the whole point of your new life.  Choice.  Yours, others, and how they intersect to throw the world you’ve been dropped into off its current path and towards one more in keeping with the ideal of free will that humans are supposed to have.”_

_Harry grimaced, not liking the sound of_ that _._

_“Why do I have a feeling that the beings in charge of my new home have a hard time understanding the concept of free will?”  He asked drily._

_“Because my chosen are never fools.”  Death snorted.  “Hard-headed, stubborn, often heroic, but never fools.  You’ve already run into one major instance of meddling yourself.”_

_“Angel.”  Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste.  “I don’t want to_ know _what that soul must have done to warrant a trip inside a demon and dealing with that level of guilt for a century.  I really_ don’t _.”_

_“It wasn’t being a paragon of virtue, I can assure you of that.”  Death noted, a look of bland distaste on his own nondescript face.  “Still, it’s a creative punishment for both of them, I have to admit.”_

_Harry felt the tug to his mind that told him his childe was beginning to wake once more, pulling him from his dreamscape._

_“I’ll pay attention to any further hints in the future, shall I?”  He offered with a grin as the room began to fade around him._

_“Do.”  Death grinned back.  “It’s about time those upstarts learned what_ true _guidance and free will look like, and you’re just the Champion to teach them.”_

_…_

_November 20, 1996; Sunnydale, CA_

Jamie could remember going to his first baseball game when he was seven.  His dad took him.  They ate hotdogs and drank soda and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the 7th Inning Stretch.

He also remembered being terrified as his life drained away until he heard his Sire’s voice in his head.

Jamie could remember his mom teaching him how to dance in their living room, spinning around and around.  He danced with her at his Aunt’s wedding.  He was ten.

He also remembered gasping awake with a cacophony in his ears and being held by arms whose strength was hidden beneath an unerring gentleness.

Jamie knew his first life was over, he’d known it when he was gagged by a monster that looked like a sweet young girl one moment and a demon the next.  He’d known it when that same monster tore into his wrists and neck.  He’d known it as he stared terrified at the body of a woman of an age with his own mother.

And he’d known it when he came awake with an ache in his upper jaw and a thrumming feeling inside his head.

Jamie knew, now, that that thrumming was the Sire-Childe bond.

He also knew that while his _first_ life, his human life, was done, his second life was just beginning.

His Sire, Harry, told him that if he didn’t want to fake his own death, he’d need to slowly but surely pull away from his parents.  That eventually no amount of hair dye was going to keep them from seeing.  Seeing as he never aged.  As his hair never silvered or thinned, his face stayed young, and his body never grew weak or soft.

He would be twenty forever.

That part was cool, like the increased strength and speed and the other things Harry was helping with that came with the vampire package.

Having to move around or live in the shadows, that part wasn’t nearly as awesome.

But, when weighing pros and cons, eternal youth so long as he didn’t get beheaded seemed like a decent trade for the irritations that came with said youth.

He wasn’t an idiot.

He knew – or had inferred from some of what Harry had told him – that not all Sires and Childer had a close bond.  Not all Sires cared like Harry.  Just like not all Childer respected those who turned them like Jamie.

In that, it wasn’t any different than the bond between a human parent and their children, only a thousand times deeper and more unbreakable.

Time and circumstance could tear mortals apart.

Nothing got between the bond of a Sire and a Childe, not even being released could do it fully since a released Childe could still feel the moment their Sire was killed.

Yeah, Harry had taught him a lot in the few days since he’d risen, including that they would need to deal with a handful of humans and a different species of vampire that knew Harry – or assumed – had Sired Jamie and might try to throw a fit over it.

Jamie wasn’t bothered.

Harry was taking him to England and then Romania from what his Sire had said to teach him things that couldn’t be easily handled under the eyes of a Slayer – and _that_ had been a trip and a half when Harry had told him the little blonde he’d seen dancing at the Bronze several days a week for the last few months was a superpowered vampire hunter – like how to _hunt_ , something that while he still hungered for his Sire’s blood, was beginning to intrigue him more and more.

He might feel bad about that part of himself, but Harry it seemed had a deal: no innocents.

That, along with some other quirks of his Sire, had put paid to the pop culture inspired doubts regarding Jamie’s new, ah, _lifestyle_.

While he didn’t kid himself – having new urges and a much hard to control temper wasn’t a picnic – he thought with time and not being _too_ hungry he might be able to start classes back again next semester, he also knew that _control_ was a fleeting thing at times.  Harry had had to pin him more than once over the last few days to keep Jamie from snapping at his veins.  Jamie no more wanted to drain some teenager or worse a _child_ than he had wanted to die when the Hellbitch – as Harry called her – had bitten him.

Bad, rotten, evil people on the other hand…yeah.  He could see that.  Which was probably in large part due to the no-inhibitions thing that was part and parcel with the vampire upgrade but, hey, you couldn’t win them all.

Harry had announced him stable enough to be in public so long as his Sire was within reach at all times, hence their current midnight jaunt through the more rundown area of Sunnydale, his Sire tracking something only he could sense.

Part of the dhampir deal, from what his Sire had told him.

Everyone, for the most part, smelled the same to him if they were human.  Yeah, he could smell things about them – that one’s sick, that one just got laid, that one had too much garlic on their pasta – but underneath it all they still smelled _human_.  And human smelled tasty to him.

Demons were different, smelled as different as their forms as Jamie and Harry strolled through what was apparently one of the more demon-centric districts of the city.

They didn’t give them any problems though.

Live and let live, Jamie supposed.

And it wasn’t like Harry was hunting any of _them_.

No, he was hunting something else.

His Sire had explained how it worked for him, being a dhampir rather than a vampire, and while some of the perks sounded awesome – like it being a lot easier for Harry to do magic than it would apparently be for Jamie, though Harry was going to teach him what he could anyway – the drawbacks sounded intense with _having_ to feed off of powerful creatures instead of _choosing_ to feed off of them.

It was dangerous, from what Jamie’d been told, and not something he was to ever attempt alone until he was a Master Vampire, even with the power-boost it was supposed to give.

Harry was different.

_Made_ to hunt powerful things that went bump in the night.

Or just powerful things in general.

That was the other thing that convinced Jamie he wasn’t some sort of evil creature of the night despite being a vampire.  Harry chose.  He chose everyday to feed on the deadly and dangerous instead of the innocence and pure.

And if Harry could choose, so could Jamie.

…

“The warlock I’m tracking has the ability to cloak his residence.”  Harry explained more to the patiently following Jamie as they drew closer towards where he was sensing a particular well of dark magic.  “I’ve noted him before but not bothered with him as he’s dark, definitely wicked, but compared to the Master and his get not all that bad.”

“Degrees of black.”  Jamie nodded, eyes glowing a bit more golden in the low light as the vampire in him shoved forward to help him see.  Harry’d noted that.  Much like the Angel/Angelus shift, with Jamie it also was seen first in the eyes, though Jamie being a different species of vampire only had to worry about controlling his fangs not a full or partial facial shift like the native species.  “I follow.  Why this guy then?”

“One:” Harry ticked off a finger in mid-air as they prowled closer towards the now-stationary well of magic.  “Because this is training for you not just hunting for me and you need to learn how to scent out magic other than mine.  And two: he’s the equivalent of a drug dealer.  He gets young, impressionable magicians hooked on dark magic and they keep coming back for more, paying for the high with their own magics.  Lazy.”  Harry wrinkled his nose.  “And dangerous, but no one other than his customers are likely to miss him and per the terms with the Slayer’s Watcher not an innocent in any way, shape, or form.”

“What’s his name?”

“Rack.”

Coming around a corner, Harry stopped in the middle of the sidewalk facing a crack between two townhouses, holding out his arm to block Jamie from continuing onward.

“What do you sense?”  Harry asked, green eyes shining even in the dim light of the streetlight down the block.

Taking a deep breath to pull in scents, Jamie closed his eyes knowing that from what Harry asked it wasn’t his _eyes_ that needed to do the sensing this time.

“I smell,” he frowned, brow furrowing in concentration.  “It, it kinda smells like a thunderstorm under the dirt and stink of the general area.  Like at the house, how it smells like the sizzle of a hot pan under the beeswax from the floors and tea.”

“Good, very good.”  Harry nodded, smiling when Jamie cracked his eyes open to check his reaction before closing them again.  “What else?”

Jamie cocked his head to the side and lifted his hand, ghosting it over something he could almost _feel_ at the edge of the house-side of the sidewalk.  “There’s something here.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “It feels greasy, like I just stuck my palm in a vat of fryer grease at the Bronze.  Gross but kinda good somehow and ick I can’t believe I just said that.”

Harry huffed a laugh.

“Yup, that’d be the dark magic alright.”  Harry rolled his eyes, finding the description rather apt.  “You’ve been surrounded by _my_ magic which by dint of belonging to your Sire will never feel off to you the way this does.  The _kinda good_ part comes from it being dark magic and you a dark creature while the ick and greasy factors are from it being Rack’s magic given what I’ve heard of him.”

Jamie blinked, turning that over in his head.

“Does that mean if you get good enough at sensing magic you can know things about the caster without _actually_ knowing them?”

“Yup.”  Harry grinned, pleased and proud at the clever being he’d Sired.  Vampires, no matter the species, didn’t wake up and suddenly become geniuses or clever or improved in the brains department.  They had instincts, sure.  If they lived long enough to clue into them, their instincts, improved senses and strength could make them _seem_ more intelligent than they’d been as humans, and by the same measure longevity – if they do more than wreak havoc with it – can improve their knowledge.  But clever can’t be _taught_ , you either you were or you weren’t.  And his Childe, as Harry was learning, was very clever.  “With enough practice you can even parse it down to their mood when casting.  Magic leaves traces and has consequences.  Always.  Never forget that, Childe.”

“Yes, Sire.”  Jamie turned glinting golden hazel eyes on his Sire.  “What’s next?”

“Well,” Harry pursed his lips.  “Since we’re dark creatures we can walk right on in along with any demon and Rack’s junkies.  If we weren’t I’d have to break the warding before the entrance revealed itself.  As it is.”  Harry linked their arms and stepped off the sidewalk and forward, more than familiar with walls that weren’t walls from his first life.  “We just step forward.”

“Woah.”  Jamie shook his head a little when instead of running face-first into a cracked concrete wall they found themselves on a rickety porch facing a wooden door.  Looking back he saw a bit of a haze between the porch step and the sidewalk they’d left behind.  “That’s a trip.”

“Welcome to the world of magic.”  Harry snorted, a half-grin kicking up at the side of his mouth.  “Fucking with your head since before the beginning of time.  C’mon.”  He rested one hand on the door handle, half-grin turning into a full-blown vicious smirk when it turned under him.  “There’s someone inside just _dying_ to meet us.”

Entering the room, a type of largeish foyer, Harry met Jamie’s eyes with a nod.

They’d already discussed what he was to practice tonight, all he needed to do was get into position while they waited.

Patience, after all, was one of the hardest portions of the hunt for a vampire to learn.

It wasn’t exactly Harry’s strong point either, but as he’d lived longer – both as a human _and_ as a dhampir – than Jamie he was capable of it when needed.

And with Rack’s track record of siphoning magic from other casters, Harry wasn’t all that concerned about him focusing on Jamie or being overly on-guard when faced with the veritable smorgasbord that Harry was sure to seem to the warlock.

Which he did, seconds behind his latest pathetic junkie who stumbled out of the doorway leading further into the house and out onto the street, barely able to even walk let alone note the pair of predators they’d passed.  Too high.  Or too drained.  Either way, they’d be lucky to make it home running around like that.  Harry wasn’t the only beastie in town that preferred magical blood after all.

Just the most dangerous.

Too bad the warlock with scars on his cheeks and a bad eye – giving Harry disturbing flashbacks to a mix between Mad Eye Moody and Remus Lupin – was far too locked on Harry to realize either what he was looking at.

Harry smirked, eyes flickering towards Jamie.

Nice to see he still had the ability to mesmerize a magic user.

Rupert was starting to make him feel less than impressive, though considering that his fellow Englishman seemed to have mostly blocked himself off from the deep well of dark power inside him, he couldn’t find it in him to be offended.

“What do we have here?”  Rack mused, eyes ravenous on the crackling power he could sense in the being standing before him.  He noted the other in the room, but it didn’t matter.  Not when he was staring at _that_.

He never managed to say more, as at that moment when he’d fully cleared the doorway and moved towards the powerful creature, the second body he’d discounted thanks to the dull-roar of his power compared to the flaming inferno of the other’s sprang from the shadows, grasping his wrists and breaking them, rendering them useless with a piercing shriek from Rack’s lungs as his arms were held out away from his body, all the while the powerful creature with amused green eyes watched on.

“Good job.”  Harry praised.  “Casters often need their hands depending on their type.  What else?”  He prompted.

In response, Jamie leaned around Rack’s back where he’d been holding him up and away from himself, and extended his fangs in an instant, taking care to tear across only the warlock’s windpipe without knicking the veins and arteries in the neck with the razor-sharp dentition as Harry had taught him their placement during their feeds.

“Excellent, Jamie.”  Harry praised, then looked up into shocked eyes as Rack simply hung in his childe’s grasp, gurgling in pain, good eye wheeling in its socket.  “You know, they say children can be quite difficult.  I’ve found it to be quite rewarding thus far.  Thank you, Rack.”  Harry let his own fangs drop.  “You’ve been most helpful this evening with my Childe’s instruction.  Jamie my darling, are you hungry?”

Jamie scented the warlock.  “He smells kinda good under the funk?”

“Go deeper.”

Another breath.

“It’s a combination of that thunderstorm smell and the oiliness from touching the magic outside.”  Jamie rubbed one fang with his tongue.  “When I block out the body odor his scent makes my stomach clench like pizza used to do.”

Harry beamed with pride at his Childe.  He was ready to start weaning off of a strict diet of Sire’s blood.  Just a start, mind.  He likely wouldn’t be full off of it for weeks yet and would need a top up every now and again to maintain their bond, but he was advancing from Sire’s blood to adding magical blood to his diet.  Meaning that other vampires were now on the menu.

With Harry needing to meet with the Scoobies before they left, to reaffirm their truce if naught else, that was an excellent development as he won’t have to be as obviously linked to Harry either, though Jamie would still have to come with him.

“Well then.”  Harry grinned at his Childe, pacing up to the hanging form of Rack and leaning into his neck opposite Jamie.  “Dinner’s on.”

…

“Yes…yes, we’ll be here.  Very well, ‘til then.”

Giles hung up the library phone with a click then walked out to the main room, glasses in one hand as he took in the sight of the children gathered around the wide conference table, the ensouled vampire sitting beside Buffy and talking her through the tome on the Order of Aurelius given that his Sire had nearly killed her mother.

Joyce.  Giles winced at the thought.  She had been infuriated by the idea of what her daughter had been keeping from her but after nearly being drained by Darla she _also_ wouldn’t be put off.

Though he must say, after she’d gotten done ringing a peal over his head, he’d quite enjoyed having another adult to speak with who wasn’t either a two hundred and forty-odd old vampire or a dhampir of unknown age and power.

Buffy as well had seemed more settled into her duties as the Slayer now that a large part of her life didn’t involve lying to her mother.

“That was Mr. Black.”  Giles announced to the room.  “He will be coming by with his Childe Mr. Grant this evening.”

“He did change him then?”  Willow checked, soft brown eyes worried.

“We expected he had, Willow.”  Giles reminded her gently, aware as ever of the sheer youth of the pair who had chosen to take on the forces of darkness alongside the Slayer.  Perhaps it was due to the tragedy Buffy had already faced before ever making his acquaintance, but she lacked a certain dewy-eyed innocence that Willow excelled in for all her readily apparent naivety.  “And given that it’s been rather longer than the amount of time a turning takes since we’ve seen Mr. Black I would say that he’s been teaching his Childe to control himself around humans before venturing out.”

“Angel?”  Buffy asked, hazel eyes peering up at him from under blonde lashes.

He considered it a long moment, flipping through what he knew of rising.

“It’s possible.”  He allowed.  “Childer learn at different rates, depending.”  He shrugged.  “I really couldn’t say for certain either way since I’ve never seen Black as a Sire or met Grant when he was human.”

“That effects things?”  Buffy perked up, looking away once more from the boring book on vampires that for the most part were long since dusty.  “What about, demon in, human out?”

“It depends.”  Angel told her slowly with clear reluctance.  “On a lot of factors.”

“Like what?”

Angel shifted in discomfort, he _hated_ talking about anything that might touch on his own memories and experiences.  Casting a glance around the library, he saw that he wasn’t going to get out of this one, however.  Gritting his teeth, he spoke.

“Things that don’t have to do with the soul carry over.”  He winced, rubbing at his temple as Angelus rattled his cage _hard_ at his telling the _fucking Slayer_ vampire lore.  “Intelligence, abilities that were trained, knowledge.  How well childer acclimate depends on the sire and what steps they take to train them and how they complete the siring.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  Harry said in exasperation as he caught that last bit as he paced into the library with Jamie on his heels.  “Are you _seriously_ telling me Rupert that you haven’t covered basic vampire lore with the damn _Slayer_?”

“It hasn’t come up before this.”  Giles defended himself, albeit weakly even to his own ears.  “And Buffy has been rather intransient in her reluctance to perform independent research or review the Slayer Handbook.”

“Hello?”  Buffy rolled her eyes with a scoff.  “I’m a cheerleading, gymnastics-doing, butt-kicking Slayer girl.  Not a book girl.”

“Maybe not.”  Xander scoffed, eyes wide as what his friend, Jesse, had told him after being turned and subsequently staked.  About being himself but better.  “But it was still something we should’ve known.”

“Vampires, strictly speaking.”  Harry told them motioning with his head for Jamie to stay between Harry and the door as he came to lean against the head of the table.  “Are ravenous, thoughtless, and dangerous when they rise, especially the lot you’ll run into rising in a cemetery.”

“Why?”  Buffy asked, eyes darting between the three older males, still a bit mind-blown over Giles not sniping at Black over his language or her own snarky attitude.

“Because.”  Harry explained, rather patiently he thought without the normal tone of exasperation that he always seemed to take on when educating Giles’s charge.  “If you’re turning childer you don’t stick them in the ground and force them to dig themselves out of their own grave unless you’re trying to break their minds.  That’s what you do with minions: cannon-fodder.”

“A minion can age and gain status.”  Angel confirmed, shooting a considering glance that was tinged with gold between Black and his Childe.  And it was definitely a Sire-Childe bond.  Otherwise they’d not smell so cleanly of each other, even if it was untainted by sex the way he’d expected.  Another difference then, between vampire and dhampir.  Angel couldn’t think of a single instance in the memories of life with Darla where he’d met a non-sexual Sire-Childe pairing, including with Angelus’s own Childer, save for Sam…though due more to lack of time and options than lack of desire.  “Create their own minions, strike out on their own, but they’ll never be a true Childe with the power and connection that comes with it.”

“You don’t break someone you’re planning on having around for years.”  Harry arched a knowing brow at Angel, seeing the demon peeking out from those brown eyes.  “Unless you’re Angelus anyway, or one of those wankers from the Fell Brethren.”

Angel growled softly at Harry, only stopping when Buffy whapped him on the arm with a frown.

“We know you’re not like that anymore.”  She whispered fiercely.  “You’re good.  You have a _soul_.”

Harry snorted a laugh at that, lifting one hand to cover his mouth in apology when all eyes turned towards him, his green gaze dancing in humor.

“What’s so funny, Vampire-Lite?”  Xander demanded.

“Oh.”  Harry waved a hand.  “Just that humans are capable of _plenty_ of evil, soul or no soul.  It’s not the lights and clockwork that matter but what you choose to do with them, whelp.”  He sneered.  “Like sexually assault a young woman who you swear up and down is your friend.”

“That wasn’t me.”  Xander denied, color draining from his face.  “How did you even know about that?”

“What’s he talking about?”  Angel asked, voice rasping in anger.  “Buffy?  What’s he _talking_ about?”

“Well, chaos and discord sowed, that’s one errand off my to-do list.”  Harry arched a brow.  “I can’t believe you’re still trotting out the _I don’t remember_ line or that anyone thought they’d be able to keep that a secret from the _ruddy vampire_.”  He shook his head with a tsk.  “Really now.”  Turning towards Rupert, he ignored the hissing four-way fight breaking out between the teenagers and the vampire.  “Rupert, I’ll be gone a while, when I return can I consider my Childe included in our pact?”

“Yes, yes.”  Giles pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, distinctly _not amused_ and having flashbacks to his friend Ethan who likewise couldn’t help but start trouble and stir cauldrons everywhere he went.  “I have your mobile if there’s an emergency that requires your particular brand of damage control.”

“Ta.”  He saluted the Watcher, linking arms with his Childe as he turned and sauntered from the library.  “I thought that went well.”

Jamie snorted, rolling his eyes.

“If _well_ means seeding trouble among the children, then yes.  It went well.”

…

“Time out!”  Willow cried, diffusing – if only temporarily – the three-way fight between Buffy, Angel, and Xander, even if she was more than a little confused-girl over Harry’s actions and a lot bit of hurt-girl over Xander’s lying.  “Giles?”  She asked when they’d quieted down at a sad-eyed look.

“Yes, Willow?”

“Why didn’t the new vampire talk?”  She asked, confused.  “He wouldn’t even look at any of us either, just kept like, complete laser-focused on Harry.”

“I noticed that.”  Buffy nodded, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout and a glare at both Angel and Xander, more than a little wigged over Xan’s lying and upset that Angel thought she needed him to defend her all of a sudden.  “Major weirded.”

“You _really_ need to start training her, Giles.”  Angel commented, wincing at the growls coming from Angelus over Angel’s _sharing_ with the group.  “This lack of information could get her killed.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, _thank you_.”  Giles snapped back testily.  “However, it would be much easier to do so if Buffy would _deign_ to sit and read a book once in a blue moon or actually _listen_ when I speak as I know very well I have covered this exact issue with her when it became apparent that _your Sire_ was present in Sunnydale!”  He finished in a near shout that had all three of the teenagers hunkering down a bit in their seats, especially a mortified Buffy.

“Sorry?”  Buffy lifted her head from where it’d lowered to lock on the wooden table before her.  “’splainy?”

“You _need_ to pay attention when I speak, Buffy.”  Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses held curled against his palm with his remaining fingers.  “For your own safety as well as those around you when it comes to the culture of the creatures you are sworn to hunt and slay.  It could very well save your life or cost it.”  He heaved a sigh, shelving what he knew by now would be a long-running argument between them for another time.  “At a guess regarding Mr. Grant’s behavior, I would say that his Sire ordered him to ignore all others in the room and refrain from breathing in order to avoid testing the control of a newly risen vampire in a room with a Slayer and several other humans, Angel?”

“Since he didn’t even spare a glance at either Buffy or me?”  Angel arched a brow then nodded.  “That’s likely.”

“Why does the not-breathing affect the not-speaking?”  Xander asked meekly, ducking to avoid a glare from both Angel and Buffy at the reminder of his ongoing presence.

“Air.”  It was Willow that answered this time.  “Air causes the vibrations that makes sound through our vocal cords or sub-vocal sounds like a vampire’s growl.  It also carries scents and even tastes sometimes.”

“Vampires are capable of going without breathing for long periods of time if needed.”  Angel finished the explanation.  “Most don’t since it leaves us mostly scent-blind.  It’s why we don’t breathe in our sleep: breathing becomes a voluntary action when you don’t need it to survive.”

“Oh.”  Buffy wrinkled her nose at that thought.  Imagine waking up next to a dead guy.  Ewww.  Well…maybe not if it was Angel.  Still.  A little ewww.  “Vampires are weird.”

“You have no idea.”  Angel muttered, Angelus chuckling in his ear.

…

Angel shifted, discomfort rattling him clear down to his bones.

He couldn’t believe he was standing here.

_Willingly_.

And yet, if he didn’t lift his hand and knock, he’d never get the answers that had drug him across town from his basement apartment to Crawford Street where the mansions were massive and the scenery quiet, a perfect cover for his evil counterpart.

Or in the case of tonight’s fact-finding mission, his evil counterpart’s latest obsession.

He didn’t know what to think of Harry Black, though Black certainly seemed to have made up his mind about _him_ before they’d even spoke the first night in that alley behind the Bronze.

There was a stark lack of information on their seemingly-neutral neighborhood dhampir.

One thing he _had_ managed to find out that for all that Harry Black had an impressive paper trail behind him, when you dug deeper not a single _soul_ could actually remember him in any depth.

Angel may not have Angelus’s contacts, the demon frustratingly set on stymying him at every turn for lack of anything else to do or havoc to wreak, but he wasn’t stupid either.  A century of timesharing with a demon had taught him a thing or two.  And Harry Black _wasn’t_ who he’d presented himself as to Giles.

Which left the lingering question of just _who was he_?

Well.

Besides a dhampir.

_That_ had been proven without a doubt long before events had led him to standing on his doorstep and knocking, hoping that he’d caught the daywalker before he’d left for his _trip_ with his new Childe.

Knocking firmly on the solid wood door, Angel restrained the need to jump – just a little – when it swung right open to the amused face of the dhampir in question.

Right.

Bloodwards.

He’d known he was there.

_Fucking magic_.

Angelus heckled him lightly in the back of his mind before Angel shoved his inner demon back down, Black propping his shoulder against the open door and arching a brow, Angel spying his Childe hovering a pace behind him in the warm light of the hallway shining from the wall sconces.

“Here I thought you weren’t going to manage the arduous task of _knocking_ , Angel.”  Harry mocked him, seeing only a faint hint of gold in those soft brown eyes that told him Angelus was awake but not even _close_ to being in the driver’s seat.  He’d have to do something about that.  Good thing there was a spell or two he’d been hoping for a guinea pig on since arriving in his new life.  “You’ve been inside my perimeter wards for more than a mo’.”

“I need to talk to you.”  Angel managed to get out without sounding – completely – like the words had the consistency of chewed asphalt on his tongue.  “About…”

“About Darla?”  Harry suggested, seeing the gold gleam a little brighter in Angel’s eyes.  “If you swear to behave yourself and not do anything I’ll have to take offense to we can have that conversation.”

“I promise.”  Angel held up his hands in surrender.  “I just want to talk.”

“Alright then.”  Harry held out his hand, waggling his fingers a bit when the vampire just stood there like a gormless nob.  Rolling his eyes with a sigh he explained: “I’m not going to invite you just to have to disinvite you before I leave for the airport and you’d need more than an invitation to get through my wards anyway.  Just take my damn hand before I change my mind and leave you spinning your wheels for the next however long I’m gone, yeah?”

…

After pulling Angel through his wards, Harry led the way towards his library, Jamie darting ahead after a single glance from his Sire.

“He, ah.”  Angel stuttered over trying to find some approximation of _small talk_ that would carry them away from the heavy silence while he worked up the courage to broach the subject of Darla with the dhampir that killed her and his Childe that was killed _by_ her.  “He seems like he’s adjusting well.”

“Having a Sire that gives a damn can do that for a fledge.”  Harry allowed, tone cool but calm, plans already ticking quickly through his mind as he led Angel to a side chair before the cold fireplace, Jamie hurrying over and handing off a small, palm-sized, wooden box.  “What do you want to know, Angel?”  He asked with a soft sigh, nodding his thanks to his Childe as Jamie took up post a pace behind Harry’s own chair, well out of the way of the mercurial Master Vampire with actual split-personalities.

“Did you, or she, do something before she died?”  Angel frowned.  “I haven’t felt…”

“Right?”  Harry finished the vampire’s thought once more, giving an internal eyeroll.  The Souled idiot should _not_ be this confused over the commands being lifted, which made him think that in many ways the commands had settled closer and tighter around _Angelus_ than they had Angel.  “I tried.  Doesn’t mean it worked.”

“You thralled her.”  Angel aired his ongoing – and his demon’s for that matter – suspicion though it was little comfort.  After all, if Black could thrall his _Sire_ , Black might be able to thrall _him_ , even if it was hard to say as he’d been more powerful than Darla for all her turning him and being much older for a long time.  There were benefits to becoming a Master after all and in more than founding your own line.

“I tried.”  Harry repeated himself, amused.  “Commanded her to lift her Sire’s commands.  Hard to say if it worked with you being this confused over the situation.  Figured if either of us would know it’d be you.”

“Something is different.”  Angel allowed, slumping back into his chair.  “But other than being vaguely…unsettled I’m having problems pinpointing it.”

Harry smirked, blowing by amusement and into full-on entertainment.

It was like he was _begging_ Harry to fuck with him at this point.

For that matter…he wondered how much of Angel’s confusion and decision to seek out Harry was _Angel’s_ and not Angelus pulling his strings.

Though if that was the case, he’d bet that the vampire hadn’t counted on being shoved so firmly to the side when Angel caved.

“And you want my help figuring it out before I go on walkabout, right?”  Harry snorted, making a show of exasperation for Broody.  “What, exactly, would be in it for me other than wasting my time?  I _do_ have a plane to catch you know…”

“My word,” Angel winced, struggling to believe he was even _saying_ it, but…needs must.  And he _needed_ to know that Buffy would be safe with him and Darla hadn’t fucked him over more than she had with her _gift_ of a Romany girl.  “That whatever I learn regarding you and your abilities will not be shared with anyone but myself.”

“You mean you and your inner demon.”  A grin twitched at the corner of Harry’s mouth.  “Make it no matter _how_ you learn about any and all of my skills, powers, and abilities and I’ll help you discover what’s changed inside you with Darla’s death.”

“Done.”  Angel agreed after a long moment brooding over the offer.  It pinned him down a bit, that was true.  But as far as he could discern, Black wasn’t working on ending the world or trying to kill Buffy, making him a bit out of the scope of things Angel really gave a fuck about anyway.  “How are we going to do this?”

“Simple.”  Harry popped open the wooden box, removing a bloodstone pendulum on a silver chain.  “You’re going to slip into a meditative trance whilst I take a gander at your lights and clockwork.”

“How?”  Angel was staring to feel like a broken record even as he struggled to think over the howls of laughter Angelus had ringing in his ears.  _You made a bargain with a sorcerer you feckin’ bugfuck boyo!_ Angelus mentally heckled.  _Canna you_ feel _it you daft idiot?_   _It swims all around ‘im the same as me Dru!_ “Magic?”  He asked weakly, eyes wide as he stared, eyes darting between the dangling bauble and dancing green eyes.  “You’re magical?”

“You _really_ should do more research before you get into bed, metaphorically speaking, with strangers, Angel.”  Harry’s smirk turned cruel.  “Now, shut up and focus on the pendulum.”

With that, Angel found himself helpless but to follow Harry’s instructions as he started to hum in his rich chocolate tones, the tune picked up by his Childe and echoing all around him, then lapsed into a short refrain though by then Angel was swirling too far down to hear it.

“ _Sleep, child, the darkness will rise from the deep, and carry you down into sleep…”_

Harry stilled the pendulum and set it aside as those unfocused eyes shot through with gold in an instant, the demon rising as the intruding soul was sucked down under Harry’s spellwork, the first of its kind he’s toyed with since waking in his new life.

“Yer a clever bastard, are-na ya?”  Angelus observed, sitting up from the slouched position of the Soul and cracking his neck even as he looked over the head of his pretty dhampir at the fledge who quickly lowered his eyes to the wooden floor slats in deference.  The demon nodded.  That was good and proper.  Seemed his dhampir was doin’ a fine job – thus far – teaching the rudiments of vampiric protocol to the Childe.

“I try.”  Harry grinned at the wicked creature.  “Wasn’t sure it was going to work but thought it was worth a go.  Didn’t expect him to drop himself into my lap like that though.”

“He’s right about one thing.”  Angelus allowed, leaning forward his eyes locked once more on endless green.  “Neither o’ us have felt right since ya offed me Sire.”

“That gonna be a problem we have to sort out?”  Harry asked before answering the implied question that had brought Angel to his door.

“Nah.”  Angelus shrugged.  “Is what it is.  She laid down so many commands on meself over the years that I’m findin’ it rather hard to work up a good head o’ steam about it as I sort the mess out.  Nest is likely hacked off enough for the entire line.”

Harry winced.

Wasn’t _that_ the truth.

He’d felt Angel crossing his wards so fast for a reason after all, and it had everything to do with Nest’s minions finally tracking him back to his mansion following his offing of his favored Childe.

Just another reason to get the fuck out of town for a while and away from the damn crossfire between the Slayer and the Master of the Order of Aurelius.

“To confirm.”  Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders a bit as the tension over having Angelus hacked off at him over doing in his Sire was lifted.  “I _did_ thrall her and force her to lift her command.  Didn’t know whether it would work or not due to the thrall but I had to try.”

“Seemed to have worked.”  Angelus allowed, feeling clearer headed than he’d been in an age now that he’d finally been allowed _out_ for the first time since Darla bit it.  “I don’ feel any compulsion bitin’ at me brain when I think about contactin’ my Childer and tha’ was a big one she laid on me more’n once.”

“Your Sire was a cunt.”  Harry told him deadpan, offended down to his toes that a Sire would command another Sire to stay away from his Childer.  “Kinda makes it tempting to try and resurrect her and kill her all over again.”

“She wouldna be worth the effort.”  Angelus smirked darkly.  “Much as I appreciate the thought and she did arrange things so you wound up with a rather lovely Childe.”

“Down boy.”  Harry told him firmly and at once.  “If you want to keep your fangs, hands, and cock in place you’ll keep them well _away_ from my Childe.  Speaking of which, Jamie.”  Harry waved him over, introducing him formally to the Master Vampire sitting and speaking with his Sire like an old friend or welcome guest instead of one of the most sadistic creatures on the planet.

Oh yeah.

His Sire had filled him in on the history of this vampire as well as most of the Order of Aurelius before he’d allowed Jamie out of the house.

“My…ally and associate Angelus of Aurelius may I present my first and only Childe, Jamis Grant.”  Harry made the introduction with proper formality, Jamie keeping his eyes demurely lowered as he’d been taught when dealing with strange vampires his Sire didn’t immediately move to attack or kill.  “Jamie, this is a Master Vampire of the Order of Aurelius, Angelus.”

“Look at me, boy.”  Angelus growled out, Harry rolling his eyes as he looked away from the posturing Master Vampire where his Childe couldn’t see, the young one being canny enough to keep his Sire between them.

Jamie did so, slowly lifting ivory lids to reveal hazel eyes that glinted with more than a little demonic gold.

“You are a pretty one.”  Angelus noted, looking him up and down but without the leer he often turned on this one’s Sire.  “Smart too, keeping your Sire between us and minding your manners.”

Rather than speak without permission, Jamie simply lowered his head to one side in a small nod, Angelus laughing at the gesture.

“Aye, a smart one.”  The Master Vampire focused back on wee Jamie’s Sire, nodding in approval.  “Gonna put me back under so the Soul doesn’t get suspicious?”

“In a moment.”  Harry agreed.  “How good _are_ you at hiding information from your unlamented other hitchhiker.”

“Good enough that he hasna twigged ya helpin’ me as of yet.”

“If you need me or something comes up that looks fit to fuck up the current course.”  Harry rattled off a phone number.  “Yeah?  Keep in mind that even with magic it might take a bit to get back from where we’re headed.”

“Where might that be then?”  Angelus arched a brow, netting a vicious smirk in return.

“Romania by way of London.”

…

 


End file.
